


The road home

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [17]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Arranged Marriage, Canon Compliant, F/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 51,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: She has no clue where she is. Or where she was going. Actually, the more she thinks about it, the less she knows. Panic starts to gnaw at her mind, because she doesn’t remember… anything.





	1. Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I have loved Ice Mechanic ever since it randomly sprang to live after a trailer in s3 where Raven and Roan had about 0.1 second of shared screen-time.   
> So here's my try at that.  
> Enjoy

The first thing she notices upon waking up is the pain: throbbing insistently in her head and thigh and lower belly. The ground is cold and humid under her cheek; it smells like dead leaves, mud, and snow. She can move her arms and right leg. When she turns her head, it sends a spike of pain down her back. The left leg, on the other hand, is in excruciating pain.

She opens her eyes to see tall, looming trees flanking her, branches covered in light snow instead of leaves. She looks at them in awe. It feels like she’s seeing them for the first time in her life. Like trees are not something she’s used to seeing.

With a herculean effort, she turns on her back to sit up and inspect her leg. There is a complicated-looking contraption – brace, her mind supplies – hugging her left leg. The metal hinges are stuck – frozen - and one of the small metal bars that run parallel to her calf is broken and currently embedded into her flesh.

She swallows the wave of nausea and concentrates on looking around her. She has no clue where she is. Or where she was going. Actually, the more she thinks about it, the less she knows. Panic starts to gnaw at her mind because she doesn’t remember… anything.

She closes her eyes, counting slowly from ten down. And then down from twenty and, when that doesn’t work either, down from one hundred.

Once she’s managed to get her trembling hands back under control, she pats herself down, noticing that the strange weight on her back is actually a bag. She pulls it to her side and takes careful stock of what she does know.

Who is she?  
The name Raven comes to mind.  
Ok. So, her name is – probably - Raven.

What else?

  
She apparently has a bad leg. Hence the brace currently stabbing her.  
She is wounded.

What exactly is wounded?  
She pats her head carefully finding a tender spot nearly instantly on the back of her head. Running her fingers feather-light over her forehead to discover a large bump there, too. The side of her face that had been lying on the ground feels stiff and very cold – due to lying on a thin frost sheen. Patting it, she is nearly sure she’ll have a bruise there. Probably from falling.

Her pants are drenched in blood, but, even though it hurts, she doesn’t find any wounds on her lower belly. There’s a big bump, but no bruise. The bar poking into her is not embedded very deeply, and it doesn’t bleed very profusely, which is good.

  
Raven inspects her backpack: two short arrows are sticking from it. So, someone must have shot at her. Which makes sense with the rest of her state.

What happened to her?  
She was attacked.

By whom?  
Raven doesn’t have the faintest.

The backpack contains a small tool kit she’s delighted to see, even though she doesn’t know why. A little packet of dried meat and something she can’t identify. There are also two canteens: the stink of alcohol is so strong her eyes water, another half full of water. There’s also a white plastic medical kit. She opens it and locates a handful of bandages, among mysterious pills in tiny translucent bottles, two tubes of a sweet smelling lotion and a few chrome tools.

Raven pulls the alcohol bottle and the bandages to the side, unfastens the buckles of the brace and watches it fall on the frost-covered ground.

That is when she notices the knife strapped to the side of the brace: as long as her forearm, the sheath made of hard richly decorated leather, the blade wickedly curved and the smooth bone handle feels familiar in her hand.

Raven lets go of the knife to peel the blood-soaked pants from her leg. When the alcohol comes in contact with the wound Raven has to bite hard on her tongue to hold back a scream. She wraps the bandages tightly around her calf.

She pulls the pant leg down over the bandages and with a wrench of her toolkit detaches the broken bar from her brace. She doesn’t manage to taw the hinges, but at least, even if she can’t bend the knee, the thing won't hurt her anymore. And it supports her weight, which makes it possible for her to walk.

Raven packs her belongings, struggles to her feet and tries a few stumbling steps before remembering she has absolutely no clue where she’s going or if she’s on the right path.

Actually, she doesn’t seem to be on a path at all.  
Ok. So she’s alone, in the woods, cold air biting at her exposed face and hands and snow crunching under her boots.

For a terrifying moment, her muscles lock into place, and Raven can’t move or think or do anything, really, other than stand there, shivering. Then she wrangles her scattered thoughts and decides to set one foot in front of the other until she’s dragged her bloody, aching body good hundred steps from the place where she first woke up. Then two hundred, three hundred and when the sun starts to set, a thousand.

At some point, she’ll find someone who might help her. Who can tell her where she is.

  
While struggling to continue on, Raven makes a mental list of everything she knows. Which encompasses her name and very little else.

When she thinks back – throwing her memories as far as they’ll go – she only sees disconnected images that mean nothing to her: cold corridors; a vibrating, constant hum she actually misses; the feel of metal beneath her fingers.

 

It’s three days later when she sees the horse. An enormous dark brown beast tearing between the trees, with an even bigger rider sitting on its back. The animal snorts loudly, the heavy hooves crunching on the frost.

Raven tries to hide, but the hooded rider must have seen her, because he pulls sharply on the reins, bringing the horse to a shuddering stop just a few steps away from her.  
Raven’s hand goes to the knife in her brace, pulling it out and bracing herself for a confrontation she’s pretty sure she can’t win.

The rider swings down, pushing his hood back to reveal a young face. His thick beard is groomed, and the long strawberry-blond hair has been braided in nearly a hundred thin different braids, all pulled back with a leather band. His bright eyes are framed by raised brand-marks, and his nose is slightly crooked like it has been broken a few times and not always set right. He’s a massive square of a man, decked in pelts and leather armor, which only add to his general hugeness. There are a bow and arrows hanging from the horse’s seat and a big-ass sword strapped to his back.

“Ai Haiplana!” he says taking a prowling step towards her.

Raven stumbles back raising her knife, which looks ridiculously inadequate in front of this man. But she’s tested the blade, and it’s pretty sharp. And she has a plan: she’ll go for the eyes and, when he’s wounded, she’ll steal the horse and run away. Not that she has any idea where she might go from here. But for the time being away seems like a good plan.

 

The man is still talking, but she can’t understand a word he’s saying since he’s speaking some gibberish that seems to consist mainly of wide vowels and short words.

  
Her confusion must appear evident on her face, because he switches to English, talking slow and careful like she’s a small child. His thick accent makes the words fuller than they should be.

“My queen… I only want to bring you back to the stronghold. The king has been sick with worry.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Raven slashes with her knife when the man keeps advancing, slowly backing her against the trees. His face twists in a way Raven doesn’t understand.

“I am Rufus kom Azgeda.” He says like it’s obvious. Like she knows someone called Rufus. What sort of name is Rufus? “I am captain of the Queen’s Guard.” Rufus’ eyebrows twitch in a pleading way. “I am a friend of yours.”  
Raven squares her shoulders. “I haven’t seen you in my life!”

Which… Maybe isn’t accurate, but manages to shock him so much he stumbles back. Rufus' eyes flash, and then his face is a mask of pure, undiluted anger. “Who has done this to you?” He disarms her with a swift blur of his hand. “I swear, they’ll pay with their lives for harming you!”

If she weren’t so shocked by the quickness of his movements, she would probably be pissed at that. She doesn’t need this dude to go around slaying her attackers like she’s some maiden in distress.

She’s about to tell him exactly where he can stuff his gallantry when suddenly there comes a static-y voice from his belt. He smiles apologetically at her and unclips a small black device - radio, her mind supplies.

Rufus talks in that gibberish language of his and she manages to pick up a few words that ring slightly familiar but remains mostly clueless as to what he’s saying. It pisses her off, not knowing what’s going on. He then passes the radio to her. “The king wants to hear your voice.”

Raven raises an eyebrow. “So?”

The voice from the radio is all growly and dangerous, not precisely inviting. Rufus shakes the radio in her face with a pleading look. “Ai haiplana, beja.”

Raven presses her lips together and takes the radio. Rufus steps back, holding his hands up in a universal sign of peace. “Hello?”

The angry growling stops so abruptly Raven is half convinced the radio just broke. Then there’s a heavy sigh. “It’s good to hear your voice again.” Raven bites the inside of her cheek. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, ” she answers, unsure of what else she can actually say. Who is this king? He seems to know her, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a friend. What if she was running away from him? What if it was him the one who attack her and now he’s found her?  
On the other hand… What if she was trying to get to the king? Raven can’t, for the life of her, think of a good reason why she would ever want to go to a king.

Rufus calls her “queen.” Maybe she and the king are related? Maybe he’s her brother? The word seems foreign, but she knows she’s heard it somewhere. It doesn’t feel like a word that Raven feels hers unequivocally. “Raven, talk to me.”

The way he says her mane makes her shiver. Even if the connection is shitty – and she feels like she could probably do something to improve that – on his lips, her name sounds less like a name and more like a prayer.

Raven shakes herself.

The random thought vanishing into her muddled, tired brain. She’s probably reading far too much into the voice of a stranger. Perhaps because she’s been bleeding, walking and underfed for two days. “I am ok. Rufus says he’s going to kill whoever did this to me.”

What “this” is, she isn’t sure. On the radio, the king laughs a vibrant growl that seems to hum at her core. It’s not a happy sound, and she can only imagine how it would sound if it were. “That’s his job. But only after he’s brought you home.” A pause. “Please, Raven, come home.”

It’s a 50% risk. The data Raven has says she’ll be better off in a stronghold. At least there she’ll have a better chance of getting something to eat. Probably a warmer coat and maybe even tools to repair her stupid brace. She chapped licks her lips. “Ok.”

 

The ride is tense and silent. She had thought her leg ached before, but after about ten minutes of straddling the horse, she’s nearly delirious with pain, grateful for the lack of food in her stomach, which prevents her from puking over the animal’s braided mane.  
The horse flies through the forest faster than any living thing has any right to be.

The stronghold appears into view: a vast fortress carved into the side of a mountain, accessible only through a narrow winding path. They cross a drawbridge and two sets of heavy iron doors, which let them onto an extensive field. To the right are small buildings made of stone, on the left side, a market with over a dozen wooden stalls. Children run around, carrying bundles of wood, baskets laden with food or bags overflowing with furs. Strong warriors wander around in a more dignified manner. 

Rufus doesn’t stop the horse's quick gallop until they’ve crossed the square, made their way through small streets flanked by stone huts and passed another set of doors that lead them into a cavern carved into the mountain. There is another massive set of gates and an impressively carved staircase on the far end. People milling around carts, carrying sacks through smaller side-doors, bringing fresh horses out of what must be the stables built to the left of the cavern. On the steps, a man, tall and muscular, with knife-sharp cheekbones and long brown hair arranged similarly as Rufus’ paces back and forth.

The man stops his pacing as soon as he sees them and before Raven has had time to decide how she’s going to get down from her horse, he’s there, his hands landing lightly on her hips, lifting her off the saddle like she weighs nothing at all.

His face is unreadable when he sets her on the floor. His hands stay on her hips,  holding her up when her knees buckle under her and moves them only after she’s had time to steel herself. The stranger brings his fingers to her face, tracing her cheekbones with a feather-like touch and Raven knows he’s going to kiss her just a second before he actually leans down. She wants to step back, but instead her hands fist into his tunic and her knee jerks up with all her strength.

Which is stupid, because when he topples to the side, she’s left standing awkwardly on her bad leg. Raven nearly falls down on top of him, which would make the whole thing probably worse. Her mind finally catches up with the rest of her body, and she feels her blood going cold.

 She just attacked the king.

And she isn’t really sure what those words really mean – she has a very abstract and fairytale-like understanding of what a King actually is- but Raven's sure she shouldn’t go around kicking them in the balls.

Rufus says something while the king struggles to straighten. He’s trying not to smile at the other man's predicament, but even Raven can hear the teasing in his tone. The King growls something, and Rufus sobers instantly. “Let’s get you inside,” the King says with his heavily accented growly voice.

This is probably the moment when he throws her into a dungeon for the rest of her life.

Both men usher her through the double doors, up a flight of stairs, across half a dozen long stone corridors, up another staircase, through more hallways and stairs. When they finally reach the beautifully carved doors of what Rufus tells her are her rooms, she’s ready to cry with pain and exhaustion.

 The entrance opens to a sitting room dominated by a huge-ass window that overlooks the streets and plaza where she and Rufus came into the stronghold. The rooms are high enough that she can see even beyond the tall wall to the forest spreading like a white and green blanket to the horizon. The setting sun makes the sky gleam orange and light pink, and Raven’s knees nearly give out. She has never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

Or well… she doesn’t really remember her life before the last two days, so maybe she has. Not the point.

The King looks remarkably smug with her reaction. Raven limps over to one of the sofas tastefully strewn around the room. When she turns to look at the two men, Rufus has left her alone with the King, who is currently studying her with narrowed eyes. She squirms a little under the weight of it, feeling increasingly inadequate and unsure of herself.

Is this normal? Does she have a sort of relationship with the King that allows her to just sit around without being invited to? Then again, they said these were her rooms, Rufus kept calling her queen, and the King tried to kiss her, so, maybe, he’s looking at her like that for some other reason.

“What happened to you?” he asks suddenly, voice deep and raspy.

  
Raven considers her options and eventually decides the truth is the best one. “I don’t know.”

The king frowns at her. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Raven bites the inside of her cheek. But there’s no point in starting to lie now. “The first thing I remember is waking up on the ground.” His face is closed off, and she can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking. “You have no clue who I am, do you?”

She tries for a smile, but it feels inadequate on her lips. The man crosses the room in two steps and plops himself down across from her. “My name is Roan.” He inspects her face closely. “King of Azgeda.” Neither name means anything to her. She doesn’t know who or what Azgeda is. “Your people call us the Ice Nation.”

Raven frowns. “My people?”

“You come from skaikru.” The name makes her snort. What sort of name is that? Like does that mean ‘her people’ are like obsessed with birds? Or… “Your people fell from the sky” is his extremely earnest answer to her unasked question and Raven has to bite her tongue to not laugh at him again. 

“So…” she licks her lips. “If I am not part of ‘your people’, what am I doing here?”

Roan stares at her for a moment but is saved from having to answer when someone knocks softly on the door. He rises to open it. “That is something to worry at another time,” he says softly. “You have been through an ordeal. Let the healers see to you and rest.”

An admittedly big part of her is incredibly grateful for that.  
She may not remember where she comes from or where she is, but she has a distinct feeling she knows what the King of a nation might do with someone of a neighboring country.

The door opens and in come an old woman accompanied by two younger ones. All three of them wearing plain leather and wool clothes in grays and greens. The girl on the left carries a heavy leather bag and the one on the right disappears through a door on the far side of the room as soon as she’s curtsied. The King speaks lowly in that garbled language that must be Azgeda’s language with the old woman. Probably explaining that she doesn’t remember anything, because the woman comes forward and grabs her head instantly, her strong fingers landing on the sore spot at the back.

Raven jerks back and the woman says something that’s probably an apology. Roan looks at her for a moment. “I will leave you now with Hilda,” he says clearly meaning the healer. “Rufus will stay by the door. Should you need anything… Just tell him.”

The King doesn’t look very happy but leaves nonetheless, and Raven is left in the hands of the healer and her two minions.

They usher her through the doors the girl on the right went through, and Raven finds herself in a bedroom with an enormous canopied bed covered in furs, a small table by the high windows, a dresser and a vanity. The healer makes her sit by the dresser and starts inspecting her. Starting once again with her head, but touching her more lightly this time.

The woman, Hilda, compliments her on her wound dressing when she finally gets down to her wounded calf and then proceeds to cut the bandages off. Paula, one of the two younger girls, steps forward with a red-hot iron in hand.

“What is that for?” Raven’s voice comes out a few octaves higher than intended. She tries to fight their advances, but the other girl, Hannah, and Hilda hold her still as Paula presses the sizzling iron against her leg. Raven screams, buckling under the weight of the two women.

It’s over after a moment and the next thing she knows Hilda is soothing the burned skin with a translucent, shockingly cold and sweet-smelling ointment. “You did very well, ” the woman praises softly combing Raven’s hair back. “Now let’s see if you’re injured somewhere else.

Hannah helps her up – which is awkward and painful without the brace – and between the three women, they peel the blood-soaked pants off her. Hilda’s eyes shine when they press on Raven’s lower belly, and she can nearly hear her swallowing. Hilda smiles at her. “I’ll prepare something for the pain.” She tells her softly, her leathery hand caressing Raven’s cheek with a motherly touch. “You go take a bath. Paula will bring some broth to strengthen you and warm you up. Plenty of rest and good food is what you need to get better.”

Hannah helps her get through another set of doors, out of the rest of her clothes and into a steaming tub of hot water. Hannah’s hands land in her hair and start massaging her scalp with soft, soothing circles. Then go down to her shoulders.

Raven’s mind is blessedly empty, her body feeling heavy, relaxed and warm when she’s finally coaxed out of the cooling water. 

Hannah helps her into a soft wool slip, across the room, and into her bed. She presses a warm bowl of broth into Raven’s hands and guides it to her lips when she’s too tired to raise her hands on her own. After a few gulps, the maid takes the bowl from her hands and arranges the warm furs and blankets over Raven’s body. She’s asleep before Hannah has had time to leave.


	2. The Winter Palace

She wakes inside a warm cocoon, and for a few, blessed minutes her mind is too numb to register anything. She floats, in gravid and completely free.

Raven has missed this, the sensation of floating in deep dark space, being untethered and free.

As soon as her mind latches onto that thought, though, she crashes back into her body. Into the fact that she doesn’t know how she can miss something she didn’t know had happened to her. Has she floated in space? The notion feels utterly ridiculous. And with that ridiculousness, her body turns into a cage, too tight, too sore, too broken; limbs screaming in pain, and ideas crashing into one another in a rushing cacophony.

Raven opens her eyes – or only one since the other is still too swollen to open correctly. Now that she’s not half frozen, all the bruises pulse and ache uncomfortably.

It takes her tired eyes a moment to focus on the room. She’s inside the four-poster bed facing a large window that seems to open to a balcony. From where she lays, she can see the stone balustrade and the forests blanketing white-blue mountains in the distance. Between the bed and the window is a lone chair, dwarfed under the impressive body slumped in it. It takes her a moment to remember him: King Roan of Azgeda.

He sits up quite suddenly, and Raven starts a little. He’s a big man and neither his size nor the brands bracketing his blue eyes contribute to making her feel safe when alone in his presence.

Maybe, she muses, she’s a coward. Nothing much she can do about it, really.  
King Roan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s dressed in a light green wool tunic with a few buttons on the collar left open; well-worn leather pants, and heavy boots, the laces only half done. “How are you feeling?”, he rasps low and vibrant.

“Fine,” is the only thing she can think to say and he pins her down with a worried, ice-cold stare. 

“Do you remember anything?”

Raven shakes her head, burrowing deeper into the safety of her blankets. Then thinks about the feeling of floating. She’s nearly sure she’s floated in space, but that can’t be and not knowing nags at her: “Have I ever floated in space?”

Raven feels stupid as soon as the words leave her mouth but his eyes sparkle. “You were ge-mek-an-ic,” he says the word slowly like it’s a foreign language and he isn’t sure he’s saying it correctly “before Skaikru came down.” When he smiles something twists inside Raven. It feels like she’s being let in on a secret. The smile changes his whole face. He shows his teeth and his eyes twinkle. “You have told me many times of your spacewalks.” Raven hums and his smile freezes and then falls, disintegrating gradually. “You still don’t remember anything?”

Now it’s her who smiles, a small apologetic twist of the lips. She can feel them cracked and dry. “Sorry.”

There is a beat, and then Roan shakes himself. “No matter. We will find whoever attacked you and they will pay dearly for it.”

Raven doesn’t know how to answer, so she just nods once and sits up, feeling a sudden rush of self-consciousness. She should be up and about by now, not lounging in bed distracting the King from his duties. He surely has a ton of stuff to do. There’s always stuff to do. She doesn’t need her memories to know that. Also, she probably has things to do, too. They should both be working.

“What are you doing?” he asks when she pushes the covers off her and swings her legs – more like drags the bad leg and awkwardly tries not to lose her balance with the good one and fall gracelessly at the King’s feet –off the bed. “We all have stuff to do,” she says, wincing a little at how much like a dismissal that sounds.

“Do we now?” His brows arch slightly, and there’s humor etched around his lips. Raven frowns, feeling left out, a pang of anger flares deep in her belly. He sounds patronizing, and she loathes that tone. It nags and chips away at something she can’t recall, which only adds to the burning anger deep inside her. Her tone is cutting and harsh when she speaks:

“You’re the king, don’t you have stuff to do?”

“This is the day after my…” he clears his throat, looks at her, his lips pressed into a white angry line and finishes. “I have cleared my schedule.”

“For me? How sweet.”

For a horribly uncomfortable moment, Roan stares at her and Raven wishes the earth would swallow her right about now. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, much less in such a sardonic tone. But her brain must still be groggy from sleep and pain.

Then the moment passes, and the King barks a laugh that echoes through her bones, releasing the tension and tickling something in the back of her mind. “We’ll get you back still, ” he says fondly and stands up, grabbing the robe that was draped over the back of his chair and offering it open for her to slip into. Raven feels awkward as she pushes her arms into the sleeves and his hands land on her hips to stabilize her.

Roan has very big, warm hands. Only now does she see the wooden crutch leaning innocently between the headboard and the nightstand. Raven despises it even before she touches it, but without her brace, she’ll have to lean on that or the King, and even if his hands are warm and welcoming, she doubts that will be a good idea. So she grabs the crutch and he steps away. Probably relieved.

Roan clears his throat and motions to the antechamber. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She’s actually starving.

They go to the sitting room through which she came in the day before and sure enough, next to one of the windows there’s a table laden with dried meats and baked goods. They sit across from each other and help themselves to the food.

For a while, they eat in silence. It’s less awkward than she had thought it would be. Roan keeps looking at her through his lashes in a quiet, calculating way that’s slowly driving her insane.

What the hell is he thinking? Could it be that he doesn’t believe her when she tells him she doesn’t remember anything? Is it normal for a king to take a day off? Why does she feel like she’s missing something fundamental here?

“So…” she clears her throat. If he’s here already, he might as well fill in the blanks. “Where was I coming from?”

Maybe with more information, she can start to understand the whole picture; jog her memory somehow. Because not having a clue about anything is starting to get old.

“You were coming back from spending summer with your people.” This all would be way more efficient, Raven muses, if his voice wasn’t so low and growly. If he keeps that tone up, she will forget everything he says. “It’s become a tradition, of sorts. Nine months here, three in their capital.”

“Skaikru.” He told her yesterday. “Those are my people?”

He doesn’t move for a moment and then nods, curt and brusque. Raven files that information for later.

“How long have I been here? Like… How long does it take to make a tradition?”

He smirks, still studying her through his lashes. “Five years. More or less.” Roan pauses. “Feels like less.”

Raven squirms for the first time since he started studying her so intently, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks at the implied compliment. “Of course it does,” her mouth says flippantly. “I’m awesome.”

And there it is again, that smile that turns his smirk into something private and beautiful. Like before, the smile becomes bitter as his eyes sadden after just a beat; probably when he remembers she has no clue about what transpired over those five years, or why that line was funny.

She turns to look out the window. The view hasn’t gotten any less spectacular. “Why do I have to spend nine months here?”

Raven is 80% sure she has figured it out by now, but she would like some confirmation. Roan busies his hands with a small roll, cutting it neatly in half and spreading jam on one half, butter on the other. “Skaikru and Azgedakru weren’t on friendly terms when I became king. My mother had just ordered the attack on one of your settlements, killing many innocent people.”

He picks a thin slice of chorizo and arranges it on the buttered slice. “Retaliation would have come and hit hard. Our people would have entered a long and tiresome war.” His hand freezes halfway to putting the roll half on Raven’s plate. From the corner of her eye, she watches as the king swallows and presses his lips together. Then, very deliberately leaves the roll half on her plate. “Azgeda’s army is impressive, but skaikru’s strategists are the stuff of legends.” When she looks over at him, his stare is pointed, and she blushes again. Was she one of those strategists? That can’t be. He said she was a mechanic. “So, instead of war, I drafted a peace treaty and… An exchange of people was done. You have been living here ever since.” He isn’t looking at her when he adds “And there has been peace.” He growls the word like it has offended him and Raven frowns. So – if everything the King says is true - her suspicions were right. But something doesn’t sit right with her.

Who would take a mechanic as a political asset? And what business has a mechanic as war-strategist? She understands the exchange of people from a political point of view. ‘Hostage exchange,’ whispers a dark voice in the back of her mind. Just like before, it tickles the back of her mind and makes her temples ache. She knows the answers are right there, but can’t seem to reach them. It’s extremely frustrating.

“Why me?”, her voice is dryer, more brusque than she intended, but Raven can’t bring herself to be sorry for that. No matter what happened over the last five years. She was still bartered like… Like rations in the... the...  the Exchange!

“You are brilliant, ” he says without a trace of irony. “You are smart and strong and offered to upgrade our communication systems and…” if it were anyone else, Raven would have thought that smile as sheepish, but on him, it looks wolfish and sharp “well… most of our whole mechanical infrastructure, really. My soldiers have been very grateful for your radios. Skaikru not so much, I fear.”

“Are we married or something?” she asks before she loses her nerve and Roan swallows.

“Yes.” Neither the King’s face nor his voice gives anything away, and Raven squirms once again under his stare. Why must he be so infuriatingly calm and composed when she feels like she’s about to explode? “That is why my people refer to you as Haiplana. Haiplana means queen in trigedasleng.”

It’s not really a surprise, but having it confirmed sits wrong with her. ‘You should have run the other way,’ whispers a voice in her ear. Now she’s stuck here. Stuck on a deal, she doesn’t remember, struck five years ago to protect people she doesn’t know. “Doesn’t that usually happen to princesses, though? I thought I was a mechanic.”

Roan chuckles darkly. “You are right. But skaikru’s politics are a Kafkaesque nightmare. Also, I am pretty sure their princess is in unofficial wedlock. It may have caused more trouble than not trying to pry her apart from her partner.”

“What do you mean they’re Kafkaesque?” Raven asks, grateful for the slight change in the conversation's focus. Probably killing the King of Azgeda because her temper just exploded is not a good way of getting out of this deal. If they don’t talk about it, maybe she can ignore the fact that she’s in an arranged marriage with a man she doesn’t remember, and work on solutions to her current predicament.

“They don’t have a king or a queen, but choose their ruler regularly.” Seeing her skeptic stare he explains. “That means that their political ways change regularly. For a few years they can follow a directive, and then, when a new ruler is chosen, the interests and opinions can shift completely. Princes are born and bred to rule. They breathe politics from the crib to their deathbed. Someone who holds the post for only a few years cannot have the same level of commitment. Or knowledge. Also, princes are raised together. I know the leaders of other clans since they were infants. That creates strong bonds.”

Raven frowns. Explained like that, it does sound logic, then again, she has no clue about politics. “But skaikru has a princess?” He did say their princess was in ‘unofficial wedlock’ whatever that means. 

Another dark chuckle. “It’s an unofficial title, really. Clarke holds many of those. I don’t really know why she’s called a princess among some of your people since she isn’t the daughter of a queen, nor intended for a king. She was in power when the first delegation of skaikru came down. And her mother got into power after the rest followed. But the ruling title has shifted away from her over the last years, and she wasn’t ruler before the first delegation came down, so…”

Raven hums. “I’ll have to ask her, next time I see her.”

“Or maybe you’ll get your memories back. And can explain it to me then?” There’s so much naked hope in his eyes, she feels her gut twisting. “Yeah.”

 

After breakfast, Hanna comes back and makes her choose something to wear from the insanely large wardrobe in the bedroom. She helps her with the laces and buckles and straps that make the clothes inconvenient while the King busies himself in the antechamber.

Raven brushes her hair and pulls it back into a high ponytail to keep it out of her face. When she rejoins Roan on the sitting area, he smiles and offers to give her a tour through what, apparently, is her home.

It’s called the Winter Palace, it’s situated south of Azgeda territory because the winter isn’t as harsh here as at the Summer Palace. Roan tells her how this was built over seventy years ago, excavated from the inside out. “It started as a refuge to survive Prime Fire, deep in the mountain. And then the kings and queens of Azgeda just kept adding rooms, pushing ever outwards. Like a tree, fighting to get to the light. That is why there are so many different styles of the architecture.”

He shows her the Open Rooms: immense dining and ballrooms illuminated by a myriad of candles and an assortment of electric chandeliers. “The improvements done to these rooms,” he tells her pointing at the lightbulbs “are very recent. The deep belly of the Winter Palace had been wired for electrical light, but that gave out quickly after Primefaya.” He smiles fondly down at her. “You were able to solve the problem within the first two months of you living here. It has improved the lives of everyone working down there.”

They travel down to the kitchens, where she’s introduced to the High Cooks a pair of twins named Aban and Nico, with mismatched eyes and crooked teeth who obviously don’t know what to do with an amnesiac queen. They do, however, compliment her on the ‘magnificent filtering system’ for the tanks where they keep fish. When Raven asks to see it, she’s taken to a side room full of huge aquariums in which swim unsuspecting tuna and salmons. Apparently, before she created a way of cleaning the water, they used melted snow to change the water of the tanks and keep the fish healthy until it was time to put them onto the king’s table or sell them at the market.

Raven gapes at a tank full of baby octopi, feeling both fascinated and repulsed by the tiny creatures swimming cluelessly around. The filtering systems she can understand, it’s easy. How a creature like that is able to exist, though, is beyond her.

They continue their tour through the palace, visiting the stables. Raven looks at the horses with skepticism until they reach the two last boxes. Roan’s horse, Faya, is a beautiful dun mare with a soft muzzle she nuzzles against Raven’s palm. In the next box stands a blood bay horse with a white stripe under one eye. Roan pats its tick neck fondly. “Einstein found his way home the day before Rufus found you.”

The horse buts his whole head against Raven’s, nearly destabilizing her and sending her sprawling to the ground. “He’s missed you,” Roan says, affection clear as day in his voice.

After visiting the stables they make their way slowly through some other rooms, taking longer breaks in each one of them. The king tries to make it casual, explaining this or that curiosity, but Raven burns with shame every time her leg sends a pain-spike through her, and she has to stop, gasping and fighting to get her treacherous body under control.

“And finally,” he says opening a door and switching the lights on “this is the queen’s study.”

Her heart swells at the sight of the scrap metal, the tools, the workbenches and the half-assembled machines. She wants to dive into this room and never, ever leave again. There’s a sense of familiarity to this place that the rest of the Winter Palace doesn’t have. It tickles something in the back of her head, but she can’t quite pinpoint what that is.

 

 

It takes a few days for the awkwardness to wear off, but they manage to settle into a routine. Every morning Roan comes to her rooms and they eat breakfast together in her antechamber. It is usually a quiet affair, both still a bit groggy and sleepy.

Roan’s always half dressed, the buttons on the top of his tunic open, his hair in dire need of grooming and the bootlaces half undone. She’s usually in her slip with the beautiful wool robe and her hair a rat’s nest, so it’s not like she can complain. And she doesn’t want to. He looks relaxed and, if not happy, at least content when he sneaks looks at her.

Hannah – who apparently has been her handmaiden for four years now – comes to help her through the morning routine: filling her bath and throwing the windows wide open, readying some clothes for her to wear. Most days she comes with a small tray full of letters with different requests for her to peruse.

Raven reads through them in her antechamber – the sofas there are something out of this world – and then she drags herself out of the room and into the queen’s study. Which she just calls the workshop, where she works on the requests, tinkering with the half-built machines, reading the unorganized notes taped to the walls and strewn all over the place.

Rufus comes in every few hours bringing water or something to nibble at, but Raven’s mostly left to her own devices. Which is perfectly fine by her.

She eats dinner with Roan in the dining-room at the end of the corridor on what’s called 'the royal wing.' Somewhere in this wing are Roan’s rooms and his study, but she doesn’t know where either is and doesn’t want to ask.

Dinner is way more awkward than breakfast, and she doesn’t really hate it, but it’s not her favorite time of the day either. After the first week, they’re regularly joined by this or that advisor or friend, and she’s met so many strangers over the past few days, her head feels like it’s about to explode.

After dinner, Roan walks her back to her rooms and looks hugely put out when she closes the door, but never says anything about it. Or forces himself on her.

That is the problem. He’s such a gentleman, all the time. He’s nice and has a wicked sense of humor. During dinner, they sass and bicker at each other non-stop and for the brief moments, when she isn’t thinking, when she’s so engrossed in the discussion that she forgets that he’s a complete stranger, it feels perfect.

Why must he be so nice? She wants to hate it here. She wants to resent the fact that she was put into an arranged marriage, that she’s trapped here with all these strangers, in this not-at-all dark cave and not-really-cold cave-system. But she can’t because Rufus and Roan and Hanna and everyone she’s meet and with whom she has interacted are so fucking nice!

Raven can feel the anger burning away at her insides, searching for a way out. Yearning for an outlet that doesn’t come. Her hands itch for a fight. A good brawl, or… or a good explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	3. The Tunnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting off some steam.

In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have built the bombs. It was bound to end with a bang. Pun intended.

But then again…

It happens nearly a month into her ‘new’ life as queen of Azgeda.

 

Since she doesn’t attend court, has any say in the matters of state and doesn’t really involve herself with courtly matters, her work consists mainly of building and repairing all the tech in the Winter Palace, and then some.

 

She gets regular requests from different chiefs asking for this or that. Most of the letters treat her like she’s some sort of shaman. But what they want, once translated into actual do-able requests, is pretty straightforward. Accountants would like more light in the archives – candles are dangerous as evidenced by the fires that destroyed all their documents twenty years ago – so they don’t have to work in near darkness. Storage-maidens would like a freezer, etcetera.

 

When she’s bored, and in need of a new project she wanders through the lower sections of the palace. She finds stables with pigs – ugly black and pink beasts that look at her with interest from their wooden pens –; the tannery - the smell of which makes her eyes water –; and on a somewhat scary trip, she even lands in the dungeons. The dungeon master, a broad woman, called Elsa smiles meanly at her and assures her everything is in order, while in the background someone screams in agony.

 

But mostly Raven sticks to the newer parts of the Palace, and to her workshop, which she has stored is where her bombs. ‘Stored’ meaning in this case: hazardously strewed around the room, forgotten on different surfaces.

 

Raven doesn’t really think twice about it. She’s the only one who works here, and she’s not stupid enough to activate one of her precious bombs, even by accident. She even dismantles a few of them to repurpose parts. So, there isn’t really a reason _not_ to leave them where they are. Building bombs has always relaxed her. The potential of destruction, the knowledge that she could blow this mountain up, and the familiar motions of building stuff, invariably manages to soothe her nerves. 

 

“Haiplana!” Raven jumps a little, raising her head to fin Rufus standing awkwardly among the clutter of her workshop

 

Over the last month, she and Rufus have become friends – again, apparently. She has learned he’s become a father recently. His wife, Olga, works with the palace’s blacksmiths. Their daughter, Sigg, is four months old. Rufus talks about her all the time, and it tickles something in the back of her mind, but not enough to wake up her memories, apparently.

 

“Yes?”, Raven asks, her eyes trained on the big soldier for a moment before her attention wanders back to the transformer in her hand. She has been tinkering for over three hours and still doesn’t know what’s wrong with it.

 

“It is sundown.”

 

“Hm…”

 

“Are you going to join the King for dinner?”

 

“Hm…” She just needs a few more minutes; she knows she’s about to crack this. If she doesn’t, she’ll end up lying awake in bed, trying to figure it out.

 

“Haiplana?”

 

“Hm…”

 

“Raven!”

 

She heaves an exasperated sigh and turns very deliberately towards him. “What?”

  
“Why is this beeping?”

 

And of course one of her bombs is in his hands, flashing a small red light in warning.

With a curse the mechanic rushes over him, tears the bomb from his hand, throws it to the other side of the room in the same motion and rushes the guard out, closing the door firmly behind them as the bomb goes boom.

 

Rufus looks disapprovingly at her. “What the fuck?” he grumbles, brows furrowed, while Raven opens the door to take a peek inside. The bomb wasn’t very big and there’s not a lot of damage done to the interior of the workshop. If one does not count the gaping hole in the stone wall across the room, that is.

 

“Why did you have that thing lying around?!”

 

Until now she’s never seen Rufus anything but perfectly collected and calm, and a bit exasperated. The most agitated she’s ever seen him was the day he found her in the woods. Now, though, his eyes are wide, round as saucers and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

 

“How was I supposed to know you’d touch it?!” Raven counters with the same tone. It’s not her fault that he decided to play with a bomb.

 

“It was just laying there! Among the scrap! How can you be so irresponsible?”

 

Raven presses her lips together. “I wasn’t irresponsible. I knew precisely where it was.”

 

Rufus frowns. “Why did you have it in the first place?”

 

“I built it”

 

“WHY?”

 

“It’s relaxing!”

 

The guard runs his hands through his hair with a groan, and it dawns on her: he has a baby. He can’t afford to lose a limb because she was too careless with her bombs. Raven maintains that it’s his fault, but maybe she should have put a warning or something.

 

“I’ll be more careful with the rest,” she assures him, satisfied with having found the answer to at least one problem today. Rufus stares at her like she’s grown another head.

 

“The rest!" he squeaks. "How many are there?”

 

“Not more than six. I had seventeen at some point, but I needed the parts, so I had to dismantle them.”

 

Rufus stops abruptly, turning towards her with murder painted on his face.

 

“They’re perfectly safe. As you can see, they don’t do much damage. Plus they’re useful in a pinch.” And a thing of beauty, Raven doesn't say.

 

“Haiplana” he growls deep and angry, and she hasn’t seen him this angry before either “Are you actively trying to get yourself killed?”

 

“Don’t be so overdramatic. Look, I am sorry I scared you, ok? But I know what I am doing, and I wouldn’t build something I can’t control, or that can blow up this mountain. Trust me.”

 

“Famous last words” he deadpans, and Raven has to laugh. He smiles, shakes his head and sobers a little. “Raven. I know you can take care of yourself. But I am responsible for what happened to you.”

 

The mechanic feels a rush of nausea and gawks at him like a stupefied fish. Rufus continues, his face bright red with an ashamed blush. “I should have accompanied you to Skaikru territory. I should have been there to guard you. Instead, I sent my second and now…”

 

“Why did you stay?”

 

“Olga was about to enter labor. My Sigg was born not two days after you left.”

 

“So, there you have it. You had to stay.”

 

“I had a duty to my Queen and my Kru, and I let you both down.”

 

Raven doesn’t remember being friends with this man before. But she likes this loyal and earnest soldier. She feels safe with him like she can trust him with everything. It bothers her that he thinks he’s in any way responsible for the attack that apparently killed her whole entourage. Six guards and a young maid, fifteen years old.

  

“You didn’t let me down,” she says slowly. “You found me. And brought me back.”

 

He’s very grim when he says: “and I’ll find whoever is responsible for doing this to you. Ai swega kiln, ai haiplana.”

 

Raven shakes her head.

“I really need to learn your language at some point.”

 

“That might even bring back your memories” Rufus huffs a laugh. “You hated every minute of it the first time around. “

 

Raven looks into the hole her bomb made into the wall and discovers a small tunnel stretching on both sides. “Did you know there’s a corridor behind my wall?”

 

The warrior peeks over her shoulder. “That’s probably one of the servant’s ways.”

 

Raven hums and then her stomach rumbles noisily, and Rufus walks her to the dining room. Roan is there already, sitting at the table, staring off into the distance. Today they’re alone, which is both annoying and a relief. It is annoying because she can feel Roan’s unwavering attention, which makes her feel small and inadequate. And a relief, because she won’t have to sit through another awkward dinner with someone she used to know, and that expects her to remember stuff she doesn’t.

 

As she enters the room, Roan blinks and looks at her. His smile is small and tense. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come.” To which Raven doesn’t know how to answer, so she just sits down in her spot across from him. They eat some sort of stew in silence for a while, Roan’s eyes studying her intently.

 

“Would you stop that?” she grumbles when his scrutiny becomes unbearable. He clears his throat, looks away at the far wall to his left and asks around a bite of some sort of deer meat. “How was your day?”

 

“Good” she answers crossly. “Blew up a wall with one of the bombs I made in my spare time.” She most definitely does not study his expression as she says it, nor does she feel a warm flicker of triumph when she sees his smirk.

 

“Of course you did.” The King’s watching her from the corner of his eye, which still doesn’t make her comfortable, but his smile is nice. “I sat through a rather boring council meeting. We discussed tax balances for six hours, and Fred is still not appeased with the share of Mudda Territory. As usual.”

 

“That does sound boring as hell.” Roan turns his head a little bit more firmly towards her and nods, a tiny smile playing on the side of his mouth. “I know. I can’t wait for a coup to happen. Then this whole thing will be someone else’s problem.”

 

“On the downside,” she counters picking up her glass “you'll be dead.”

 

“I am dead on my feet right now. Maybe it’d be an improvement.” Raven nearly chokes on her drink. His smirk is far too smug for such a lame joke as he pats her back. When she’s managed to calm down, his hand keeps tracing big soothing circles over her upper back, and she can’t help but lean into the touch. It’s a huge, warm hand, and his fingers keep brushing the bare skin at the nape of her neck with every swipe.

 

When he notices he’s been touching her for a long time, the king draws his hand reluctantly away, the pads of his fingers tracing her shoulder before settling back on the table just a few inches away from Raven’s fingers.

 

And throughout the dinner, his hand _stays there_. So close Raven can feel the heat of it. They keep talking, a little less awkwardly now, teasing each other relentlessly and it’s fun, like always. Even with the constant shadow of her memory loss hanging over them, Raven always has fun with Roan.

 

She looks at that hand and can’t help but think ‘what if’? What if she were to extend her fingers until they touched his? 

 

When he walks her back to her rooms, like he does every night, she can feel his arm nearly brushing hers but not quite. Has he always walked so close to her? How hasn’t she noticed this before now?

 

The walk is both too long and too short. When she opens the door, she catches the fleeting longing in Roan’s eyes just before his expression closes off.

 

Raven licks her lips. She can still feel the tingling on her back; everywhere his hand has touched her tonight. That hand which is just hanging there, innocently, right next to hers. How would it feel to have that hand on other places?

Her body seems to decide on its own when it just grabs Roan’s tunic and yanks him down.

 

The kiss is all wrong for a moment, then Roan shifts his head and steps forward, crowding her against the door, his big calloused hands cupping her face, running down her back and pulling her flush against his chest.

 

His very hard, very defined chest. Raven’s mind goes blank, her body taking over. One hand fumbles with the doorknob, the other firmly fisted in Roan’s tunic as she walks back into her antechamber.

 

When he picks her up, she wraps her good leg around his waist, the other impeded by her brace, drags a little before one of his hands goes to support her ass, while he nuzzles at her neck.

 

It seems like just a moment later he’s laying her gently on her bed. Raven gives a soft whimper of protest when he pulls back, but he just takes off his tunic and she can only stare up at him. _That_ is an impressive chest.

 

“You done staring?” he grumbles, low and heated and that voice goes straight to her groin making her squirm.

 

“I don’t think you have shown me everything there is to see yet.” He chuckles but promptly drops his pants and Raven’s mouth waters at the sight of him. His smirk is infuriating when he leans down to kiss her, deep and dirty, his hands expertly undoing all the clasps and buckles on her clothes.

 

He traces lazy open-mouthed kisses over her bare chest, her belly giving her lower abdomen an unbelievably sweet kiss and resting his forehead there for a moment, before continuing on his trek south.

 

Raven watches him kneel at her feet is hand tracing circles on the thigh of her right leg while he trails kisses over the pant-covered left one. Roan looks briefly up when he reaches the brace, fingers hovering questioningly over the buckles keeping it in place.

 

She nods once and he dutifully removes the contraption, smirking when he sees the knife strapped to the side of it. He takes the brace from under her and places it carefully next to the nightstand. After that, the King makes quick work of her pants and underwear.

 

He looks at her, settling between her legs. His hands are everywhere, but where she wants them most and it’s driving her crazy. She goes to open her legs a little wider, to make her point somewhat more transparent for him when a spike of pain has her suddenly gasping in shock.

 

Roan crushes her against his chest like he can keep the pain away if he just holds her tight enough and she can’t help the shudder that runs through her. Can’t stop herself from burrowing into his chest, clawing at his broad shoulders to pull him _closer_.

 

When the spike passes, and her hands start to roam all over his magnificent chest, he pushes her back down on the mattress. He’s playing with her breast when it hit’s her.

 

“I can’t be beneath you.” She says, clenching her jaw. Feeling silly and self-conscious about that stupid leg and her hip that sometimes decides to ache for no reason at all.

 

“I know,” he whispers against her nipple. His blue eyes find hers and his smirk is sinful. “Don’t worry, meizen skaifaya. I love to see you ride.”

 

With that he turns them until he’s on his back and she’s perched on his chest, her left leg hanging from the side of the bed in a way that lets off all the pressure from her hip. She smirks. Well. He had his fun with her chest. Now it’s her turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing.... Whatever the hell that was. Hope it wasn't too awkward.  
> Anyway, this was unbetaed
> 
> Thanks so much for reading.  
> Comments and the like are the joy of my life and you can find me as ghelikblack on Tumblr and anywhere, really.


	4. A Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everybody who's reading this for their marvelous support, leaving kudos and nice comments!

The first thing she notices is the hum. A low vibrating sound that lulls her senses and makes her feel safe.

 

The second is the garish white light that casts everything in washed-out grays and blues. It’s cold familiarity,  looks nothing like the warm oranges of the flickering fires in the Winter Palace. This harsh light makes her feel weightless; every step so easy to take. When she jumps, she stays in the air for longer than she should.

 

Raven smiles, hanging in the air, comfortable and slightly cold. “Ship to Raven,” calls a voice, soft and teasing “Ship to Raven. You copy?”

 

She looks down at the boy standing there, booted feet firmly planted on the metal floor. Or the ceiling. It’s hard to know the difference hanging there in mid-air. His kind brown eyes seem capable of swallowing her whole; his smile melts something inside Raven’s chest. She swims across the air to him, caressing his face.

 

Raven missed him so much, seeing him hurts somewhere deep inside her. The boy holds her close, letting her burrow into his warmth.

 

Without understanding exactly why, she’s crying, pressing herself against him, clinging to his worn jacket with white-knuckled fingers. “I am sorry,” Raven sobs. He chuckles low, and kind, taking a step back to look at her. “Why would you be, silly?” His hands are covered in blood. Deep dark blood. He paints something on her cheeks, his touch feather-light.

 

“I wonder,” his tone is calm, but the anger in his voice makes her flinch, gravity suddenly pulling her down, down, down “did betraying me make you feel better? Have I paid for falling for someone else?”

 

“What?”

 

“I mean, it’s not like you owed me your life or anything.” His smile twits, turning dangerous. He doesn’t look at all like the boy she knows anymore.

 

He’s written the word traitor in bold capital letters across her cheek and Raven tries to remember. Tries to remember why he knows this boy, what his name is. What terrible thing has she done to him? Her brain is blank, and she can only feel this horrid sense of loss that drags her to her to her knees.

 

“What did I do?” her voice comes strangled with tears, a high-pitched pleading. But the boy just laughs in her face stepping back, slipping like water through her fingers.

 

With a hydraulic hiss, a door closes between them. Raven can still see him through the scratched glass. entirely her way up to pound on the door, dread mixing with the sickening feeling of gaping loss and of having forgotten something fundamental.

 

“What did I do!” His smile is too deep, too white, his eyes dark and hard as they’ve never been before. Raven scratches at the glass between them. She needs to know. If she knows, she can find a solution. On her reflection, the bloody word TRAITOR is the only thing she can see clearly.

 

“Finn don’t!” screams a blonde girl running down the hall, followed by a taller, darker man. The boy with the deer-like eyes smirks at her. He presses a  small, inconspicuous red button next to the door and Raven's being torn from the inside out. Someone drilling into her, a terrible, terrible whining noise rattling around her brain, making her teeth ache.  On the other side of the glass door, the blonde and the man with the slanted eyes scream. Finn looks on with an indifference that hurts nearly as much as the drilling.

 

Raven can’t hear them over the shrill whining of the drill. “Raven,” growls a voice in her ear, sounding both too close and so far away. To her pain-addled brain, the voice is like a balm. “RAVEN!”

 

She wakes with a start and promptly turns to the side to hurl the contents of her stomach over the side of the bed. A big warm hand holds her hair back while the other rubs soothing circles on her back.

 

It takes Raven a few minutes to notice the low hum has disappeared entirely, that she’s naked in a warm, soft bed. Her hip and leg and lower back throb with residual pain. The mechanic falls bonelessly on her pillow, too scared to look at anything but the mess she just made on the floor. She barely registers the rustle of blankets or the shifting on the mattress as someone leaves.

 

Roan appears suddenly by her side, prodding her gently until she scoots a little to the side to let him sit by her side and wash her face with a wet cloth. She feels a new wave of nausea, and fights back the urge, swallowing convulsively.

 

“Are you all right?” he inquires softly, brushing her hair back in such a tender way, her heart twists painfully in her chest.

 

Raven shakes her head no. Nothing is all right. She wants to know. She wants to know about the blonde and the grim man with the slanted eyes that so often feature as background in her dreams. She wants to know what she did to betray the deer-eyed boy – Finn, the blonde had called him – and, more than anything, she wants her memories back.

 

“You were calling Finn’s name,” the King says cautiously. “And then started screaming.”

 

For once his face is open and raw with worry, something that only happens when they’re alone. “Yeah,” she can’t look him in the eye. “I… I betrayed him.”

 

“You remember that?” Raven jerks back, dragging herself away from him until she’s sitting with her back propped against the headboard. “What did I do?” her voice comes low and horrified. She still cannot look him in the eye.

 

The King studies her face for a moment. “He died after committing blood crimes against trikru.” There is a small pause. “You tried to save his life. Tried to change his place for skaikru’s fox. But Finn wouldn’t let you. He was brave until the very end. Gave himself up to be brought to justice.”

 

She picks at the skin next to her nails. “I don’t remember.”

 

“You are remembering new stuff. Hilda said you may remember in dreams. This is good” Roan’s hand against her cheek makes her shudder. It doesn’t feel at all like Finn’s had and she isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

 

“Who was he?”

 

“Raven…” the mechanic glowers at him, slapping his hand away. 

 

“Don’t hide stuff from me. Who was Finn?”

 

“A childhood sweetheart. You grew up together. As far as I know, he saved your life once. You risked your life for him…”

 

“And then I let him die.”

 

He squeezes her hand. “You did everything you could for him, Raven.”

 

She spends the whole day feeling destabilized, nerves frayed and unable to concentrate. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Finn, whom she still doesn’t remember, pressing that button. His words run in circles through her mind and she just…

 

That’s when she decides to step through the hole in her workshop’s wall and wander down the corridor. The darkness soothing her, gradually slowing her heart rate and letting her _think_. About the blonde and the dark man, about Finn and herself.

 

What does she know?

Her name is Raven.

She’s a mechanic and knows her way around machines.

She comes from Skaikru, who are new to this land.

At some point, she lived in _space_ , unbelievable as it may sound.

She’s married to Azgeda's king Roan and has been for a long time.

She had a friend called Finn once. He probably was way more than just a friend. He is dead, and it is because she hadn’t managed to save his life.

 

It’s not that much. She still doesn’t know who Blondie and Grim are. But she’ll fill in the gaps. Eventually.

 

The tunnels are a maze, branches abruptly ending in steep stairs or doors. Most of those doors open to random rooms. One opens into her chambers, the door hidden behind a false bookcase in her antechamber. If the dust at her feet is anything to go by, this corridor hasn’t been used for some time.

 

Some of the tunnels she’s walked through are spotless. Rufus said they are often used by servants. But others are covered in cobwebs and somewhat disgusting to thread through. This one is neither, which turns out to be great because it’s way quicker to go from her workshop to her room through the hidden halls than through the traditional way.

 

Raven spends the whole day wandering the dark tunnels, taking random breaks when her leg starts acting up and by the time supper comes around, she’s nearly starving, covered in dust and cobwebs from head to toe. Which is unfortunate, since it so happens that they’re entertaining Dorian and Matilde from the eastern province of Bluepeak that evening.

 

They are a middle-aged pair who is – apparently – not at all glad that Azgeda ‘bent a knee to the Commander’ and took a ‘skaikru peasant’ as queen. Roan and Rufus and even sweet and discrete Hannah, have warned her about them. And the only other time she’s had dinner with them managed to cement her dislike for both.

 

“Ah,” says Matilde when she enters the dining room. Her plump round face splitting into a sharp smile that gives her the creeps. “Haiplana.” Dorian gives her a subtle once-over, and his smirk is cruel and deprecating. “How are you feeling?”

 

Raven eyes the pair, warily. “Just fine, thank you.”

 

She very consciously does not rush to Roan’s side. The King, on the other hand, does rise to peck her on the corner of the mouth and it feels sort of challenging towards their guests.

 

Throughout the dinner, Roan’s hand rests lightly on the back of her chair, not quite touching, but unbearably present and she isn’t sure if this is because of their audience, or because something changed from yesterday to today.

 

Honestly, she hasn’t given a second thought to the fact that she’s slept with her husband, being too consumed with overanalyzing her fucked-up dream.

 

“Dorian has offered to teach you the language,” the King says casually at some point.

 

“Oh.” She tries to discern what Roan’s feelings on the matter are, but his face is disturbingly closed off, a kind smile plastered on his lips and eyes hard and opaque. “That is so kind of you.”

 

Dorian inclines his head. “It’s my pleasure, ai Haiplana.”

 

“I am sure it is.”

 

The conversation is as strained and uncomfortable as it had been the last time Dorian and Matilde kom Blupik had dined with the royal pair. Matilde is one of the councilmembers in the royal court. An aggressive woman who liked Roan’s mother’s ruthless rule way more than she likes Roan’s more peace-oriented politics. She is quick to anger and speaks through her teeth, making her heavily accented voice sound slithering and menacing.

 

Every second word out of her mouth is a veiled insult, and by the time they finish desert Raven is about to stab her in the eye with a spoon. At her side, Roan watches the pair like some sort of calculating predator, ready to strike but biding his time. Raven must commend him on his restraint because Matilde dishes him a few sick burns that have her nearly out of her chair on his behalf.

 

They still make a little small talk after they have finished until Raven has had enough. “I am tired,” she tells Roan, putting her napkin on the table and pushing her chair back. “If you excuse me.”

 

“I’ll accompany you,” Roan says in a way that makes it abundantly clear that he’s dismissing his councilwoman and her husband. “I’ll see you in the morning, ai Haiplana” purrs Dorian and she forces a cheery smile and lets Roan steer her out of the room.

 

They don’t speak a word all the way back to her rooms, but Roan hooks her arm on his. And again, Raven isn’t sure if this is him being showy in case his councilwoman is still looking at them, or if their relationship has shifted after yesterday’s tumble.

 

If she's honest, she doesn’t know which one she prefers.

 

When they reach her rooms, he steps right into the antechamber and closes the door behind him with a heavy sigh.

 

“That was intense.”

 

“You don’t say.” He grumbles irritably, rubbing his face with both his hands. “I hate that bitch. She seems to live to make my life miserable.”

 

“So why do you tolerate her?”

 

“She has the support of five provinces. Hers is the most fertile land in Azgeda territory. Also, she’s my aunt.” He sighs and drags himself over to one of her couches. “She’s childless, which means she isn’t a direct threat to me. Having her control Blupik is a tactical advantage for my family, so I can’t remove her without risking other noble families squabbling to take the land from me.”

 

Raven hums in understanding, sitting down across from him. “She seems to hate the alliance with skaikru?”

 

“She hates everything new. Skaikru’s ways are new. It was my mother’s style to tear everything that didn’t please her to the ground. Many liked her politics. Especially if your territory is surrounded by an uncrossable swamp and you have all the best crops and healthy livestock.” He growls in the direction of the door.

  
“Shouldn’t the king be on the best lands?”

 

“It is very impractical to have a stronghold you can’t leave nine out of twelve months in a year. A king is a servant to his people. I must be available. That is why the Summer-Palace is located in the center of Az-lands, and the Winter-Palace is big enough to provide shelter and food for everyone in a two hundred mile radius during a siege for two years straight without many problems. Which means I can’t order Echo to murder my aunt. And you have to be extra careful around Dorian.”

 

Raven runs her tongue over her teeth. “So I guess I’ll have to learn trigedasleng from Dorian.”

 

Roan nods grimly. “We can’t afford to insult either of them. Not without an…” he clears his throat. “Not yet, at least.”

 

“I am not complaining.”

 

There is a brief pause in which Roan isn’t looking at her, and she just takes a moment to study the brand on the side of his face. She remembers how the rough skin felt beneath her fingers yesterday. Not for the first time she wonders what those marks mean.

 

Most of the Az she has seen wear brands on their face, so she supposes it has to do with belonging to the tribe, but no-one’s is as big and bold as his.

 

“It would be advisable for you to learn how to properly defend yourself.” The king turns his blue eyes to her. “And always carry that knife with you.”

 

Raven frowns she already does that, but ... “You think that’s necessary?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She licks her bottom lip and nods her head. “Ok.” He sighs and stands up “Good.” He wanders slowly to the door. “I’ll let you rest.”

 

She watches him go feeling wrong-footed. Maybe she should have asked him to stay. Raven presses her lips together and goes to get ready for bed. It feels vast and empty and slightly colder than she expected.

 

Despite being extremely tired, it takes her a long time to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and commenting


	5. Of good and bad teachers

Some people are suited to be teachers. Raven is 90% sure that is a thing: people that are cut to explain and repeat something until it sticks. Raven knows she isn’t one of those people; she always gets impatient when someone doesn’t understand how the science of this or that machine works- which happens more often than not. These people are seriously backward in matters of tech.

 

Anyway. There are people – not her – that are suited for teaching. For some reason, she thinks Grim – who so often features in her dreams next to Blondie – would be one of those teaching-oriented people. He gives that vibe off.

 

On the other side of the spectrum stands Echo.

 

Echo is the most unsuitable teacher Roan could have found to teach her; Raven decides as she lands – once again – on her butt.

 

They’re in the palace’s training rooms: a series of cavernous openings illuminated by recently re-wired electric lights – she makes a mental note to fix the fixture in the corner. With smooth and worn out wooden floors and floor to ceiling mirrors in which Raven can watch herself fail spectacularly at defending herself – or, as Echo kindly points out, doing a marvelous job at getting her ass kicked. The rooms are divided into fight rings by wooden barres mounted on hip-high metallic bipods.

 

The whole area has a very distinctive smell – the tang of age-old sweat mixed with the sweet-smelling plants they burn to disguise it – and a constant soundtrack of clashing wood on wood, metal on metal, the slap of skin on skin and the soft grunts of warriors. The air vibrates with a sense of camaraderie Raven really wants to be part of.

 

“You have forgotten everything I’ve taught you,” grumbles Echo with a deep scowl.

 

“Yeah” pants Raven from the floor, “along with all my memories and my sense of self.”

The warrior’s frown only gets deeper. “Again.”

 

Echo is Roan’s captain of the guard and Rufus’ boss; the highest ranking military in all of Azgeda, an honor she managed when she was only twenty-six years old. From what Raven has seen, Echo’s also the only Az without any markings on her: neither brands nor tattoos.

 

Raven climbs to her feet.

She asked for this; she must remind herself. Echo only wanted to teach her a few grabs and holds to fend off an attack until a soldier could get to her. Raven insisted on learning how to defend herself properly.

 

And even if everything hurts, she’s not going to be just a damsel in distress.

 

Echo beacons her to attack. Raven steps forward and goes to grab the woman’s left arm, but she’s way too quick, slithering out of her grasp and to the right. Before Raven can process the movement, Echo has thrown a punch at her. Raven staggers back but stays on her feet. Somehow she manages to block three rapid attacks and Echo smiles all proud like this is what she had in mind when she started throwing Raven around the room. “Muscle memory seems to be waking up.”

 

And even though her voice is dry and hard, it sounds like a compliment. The mechanic gives herself a mental pat on the back when she jumps out of the way of a mean-looking kick. But it’s a short-lived victory because the next step she takes her leg decides it’s had enough abuse for one day and gives.

 

Raven grunts in pain and tries to twist her weight off her leg. Her hip flares up, and everything turns white-hot, she can’t breathe, can’t think.

 

When she comes to, she’s laying on the floor, shaking from head to toe. Echo hovers over her, looking like she’s about to faint: her skin a sickly gray.

 

The mechanic blinks up at her, swallowing big gulps of air. “Are you ok?” Echo asks, her hands blessedly cool against her sweat-drenched skin.

 

“Yeah,” she pants, pushing herself up. “Think I overdid it a little there.”

 

Echo’s shoulders sag with relief. “You went down like a rock,” the warrior explains, waving away a soldier that has brought a glass of fresh water. That’s the moment Raven notices they have an audience and feels herself blushing with embarrassment. “This hasn’t happened in… A lot of time,” Echo muses while Raven drinks. “Maybe we should stick to less strenuous practice for the time being.”

 

“No,” Raven growls pushing herself up and biting her tongue not to cry out when her whole lower body screams in pain. “I’ve already told Roan, and I’ve told you.”

 

“The King will have my hide if you were to…”

 

“If you think for just one moment that you can push me around and that I’ll comply happily...”

 

Echo arches a flawlessly defined brow in the same way Roan does. “I think that’s enough for today, though,” the warrior says slowly, and the mechanic does not let herself sag with relief. She isn’t sure she would have survived another round of sparring, but she’s not about to admit that to anyone.

 

Echo accompanies her to her rooms to change, doesn’t comment on her snail-like pace, and doesn’t offer to help her up the few short flights of stairs. “If you want,” offers Echo once they’re near the end of the seemingly endless journey “we can change schedule with Dorian kom Az-Blupik?”

 

Raven gives her a sidelong look. Roan has often said Echo is one of his most trusted friends, but the mechanic hasn’t spent all that much time with her and isn’t sure how much she can say. “I spend the whole lesson with Dorian looking forward to you coming and scaring him shitless.”

 

Echo’s bark of laughter is like a punch: sudden and forceful, and there too, Echo is like Roan. They both have a wide array of smirks and amused looks but getting a real laugh out of either of them is difficult. It feels like a small victory.

 

“You’ve only sat with him for two days.”

 

“Yeah. That’s more than enough time to figure out he’s a creep. And he’s genuinely scared of you,” she adds gleefully.

 

Echo smirks, chest puffing with pride. “If he bothers you, I can have one of my warriors sharpening her knives in the library. It would have a similar effect.” Echo studies her face for a moment. “It really wouldn’t be a bother. They have an on-going bet on who can unsettle him the most.”

 

“Who’s winning?”

 

“Oddly enough, Marina.” Raven blinks surprised. Marina is a warrior that looks like a twelve-year-old: round soulful blue eyes and golden curly pigtails included. “That girl has a mean dark side, I tell you.”

 

Raven laughs. “Let me get back to you on that.”

 

Echo nods once and strides away, leaving her in her rooms to take a nap and try to get her body back under control.

 

After washing and changing into clean clothes, Raven sits down in one of her awesome couches to study some of what Dorian has taught her.

 

 

 

Azgeda territory is divided into ten provinces, each ruled by a crown representative called Viceroy. Roan is related to six of them, something that seems weird to Raven for some reason. Terms like “aunt,” “brother” and “cousin” have a foreign sound to her, and she keeps forgetting what they mean or mixing them up. The four remaining viceroys have been handpicked by Roan himself and are relatively new to the position. Raven tucks all their weird names into the ever-growing list of stuff she’s learning about her home.

 

Dorian might be a creep who openly ogles her and makes inappropriate comments about skaikru to her face. But – unlike Echo – he’s not a bad teacher. The mechanic enjoys the part of the lesson where he tells her about Az-groun – Azgeda's territory. Of course, he spins everything to underline how awesome Az-politics, people, and customs are. But, nonetheless, the information is compelling and she can always proof-check with Rufus whom she trusts more than anyone in the Winter Palace.

 

The problem – other than her dislike of her teacher – is the language. She can study as much as she wants in her room but when Dorian asks, she can’t seem to remember any of it. And it’s not even like the rules are complicated but she keeps mixing them up, and after a week she’s made no progress at all. Which has her short-tempered and angry.

 

“Again” sighs Dorian pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.

 

Raven reins her temper in with all her self-restraint and glowers at the book in her hands.

 

Apparently, she’s fortunate for marrying into Azgeda – not only because of their general awesomeness – but also because they invented trigedasleng’s written language. If Dorian is to be believed the rest of the clans either learned from Azgeda or are illiterate, which means most books and written records are kept on Az-territory – Raven has been to the massive library where the files are stored and transcribed. It’s impressive how many books have been written in the decades since the written language exists.

 

In short: all her misery can be traced back to David Peterson kom Azgeda, a wise-man who got bored being stuck inside during the winter and decided to jot down the popular stories for the village’s children.

 

Raven has a few choice words for fucking David Peterson.

 

She glowers at the book in her hands some more. The book is just a few pages long, with pictures. It’s a bloody picture book with a smiling reddish animal that looks like a wolf –a fox – called ‘ _Du nan frag en räv op_.’

 

Echo should be here already to save her from this torture. She sighs and starts butchering the language once again. She’s halfway trough the first sentence when someone knocks on the door. It’s one of the younger soldiers she often sees on the training ring called Björn.

 

“Warchief Echo told me to pick Haiplana up for training.” 

Dorian grumbles something, but Raven is already out of her chair waving good-bye with the book and ushering Björn out of the room.

 

“What took you so long?” she whispers as they walk down the corridor.

  
“My apologies, Haiplana. I only got the information ten minutes ago.”

 

“What information?”

 

“Warchief Echo left the Winter Palace on a mission from the King.”

 

Raven bites down on her tongue trying to get the sudden flare of anger under control. Roan saw her this morning; he could have told her he was sending Echo out. But no, Mr. High-and-Mighty had to be all secretive and not say anything. Why would he anyway?

 

She fumes all the way down to the training rooms, her fingers white-knuckled around the stupid book.

 

Björn guides her through the warming exercises, noticing her distress, but oblivious to what to do with it. When Raven demands to spar with him, he pales to the roots of his long reddish hair.

 

“Maybe it would be a good idea to skip that part until Echo returns?” he shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and the mechanic pins him with an unimpressed stare until he grudgingly takes his position across from her.

 

Fighting with Björn is different than doing it with Echo. His style is nothing like hers, his body not as quick or flexible, the attacks are stronger, and the first time she lands a blow, she can feel the shock of it all the way up to her shoulder. But he telegraphs most of his attacks, giving her a chance to build up her defenses and sometimes even strategize in advance, which translates into falling a lot less.

 

Raven knows she should be grateful for that. She’s probably learning a lot more this way when she has actual time to _think_. But, on the other hand, she feels patronized and pampered, which only strokes the anger humming in her veins.

 

She’s nearly shaking with it when someone clears their throat at her back, and Björn straightens so quickly he almost loses his balance and falls on his face. “Haihefa!”

 

Great. Roan.

 

The mechanic turns, gritting her teeth, her fingernails biting into her palms. Roan is looking at her; his blue eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

 

“Bants!” he barks and the soldiers curtsy and hurry out of the rooms leaving her alone with the King.

 

They look at each other for a long moment, Roan still studying her and Raven fighting the urge to do something rash – like pull the knife out of her brace and throw it at his head.

 

It is unsettling how he can just stare at her without giving anything away when she’s so raw. ‘Bet electricity would get a reaction out of him’ whispers a voice in her mind. She remembers a guy strung up and being an unreactive dick. Would Roan react like that? 

 

“Shouldn’t you be holding court or something?” she growls finally, straightening and throwing her shoulders back.

 

“I’ve finished all my business.”

 

“So early? Pity.”

 

“What’s wrong, Raven?”

 

“Nothing. I was sparring. Now you’ve sent my partner away. Again.”

 

“You can spar with me if fighting is what you want.”

 

The rational part of her brain starts listing all the reasons why this is a bad idea starting with the fact that he’s a lot taller, probably two or three times stronger than her and – unlike Björn – he doesn’t have any reason to pull back.

 

But she’s itching for a real fight, and the not-so-rational part of her brain keeps supplying her with the very, very satisfying image of herself punching Roan in that beautiful face of his.

 

Her rational brain screams at her when she adopts the stance Echo has taught her. He cocks his head to the side, but there’s a smile playing just beneath the surface of his eyes as he takes his place across from her.

 

“Show me what you’ve learned, ai Haiplana,” taunts Roan and her self-restraint snaps. Before she can think about all the reason’s why this is a bad idea – starting with the fact that Echo has told her never to initiate an attack, she’s way too slow and too weak for that- Raven launches herself at the King.

 

As Echo predicted, she’s too slow, her movements impeded by the bulky brace. Roan dances effortlessly out of reach. He pats her head teasingly passing behind her, which does nothing to help her rein in her temper.

 

With a growl, she turns towards him and steps forward at the same time the King does. Her fist graces his shoulder, and his smirk is infuriating.

 

For a while they keep at it: Roan taping her in passing, dancing all around her and she trying to land a decent blow. It takes her longer than it would probably have hadn’t she been so angry to notice: Roan’s movements are predictable.

 

He follows a crystal clear pattern, answering to all her movements in the same way, all the time. Raven frowns and, testing her theory, feints an attack to the left throwing her braced leg to the right at the same time as he goes to sidestep her.

 

The King stumbles, and she turns as quickly as possible, landing a hard shove with her shoulder against his side. Roan falls and the mechanic jumps on him, straddling his chest as Echo has taught her. Somehow her knife appears in her hand, and then they’re panting in each other’s faces, her beautiful knife pressed against his throat.

 

His stupid eyes are way bluer than they have any right to be. And his cheekbones look sharper than her blade. From this close, she sees the tiny scar on the side of his left brow over the half moon brand.

 

“Your move, my queen” she can feel the rumbling of his voice in his chest against her thighs, and it shouldn’t have the effect it has. Raven has to remind herself that she’s mad at him, but it seems ridiculous now that the adrenaline appears to be fading.

 

She grapples for her anger, but it’s slipping between her fingers as the smell of him takes over her senses. She squirms a little on top of him and notices how he’s watching her: coiled and ready to strike, pupils blown wide.

 

“Where’s Echo?” she asks pushing the knife up against his jaw to make it clear she’s having none of it. He does not affect her. Even as she has to hold herself still as he wets his lips.

 

“She’s following a lead on the attack,” he grumbles, deep and vibrant, and can’t he speak like a normal person? This is honestly not fair.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“What is this really about?” the King asks instead of answering and Raven grits her teeth, twisting the knife to make sure he feels the sharp edge. Not breaking the skin, she doesn’t want to kill this insufferable asshole.

 

“Answer me.”

  
“I didn’t think it was relevant.” It’s a lie, Raven knows it as soon as she hears it. Because every time Roan lies his left eye twitches a little.

 

But before she can call him out on it, he moves. Lightning fast he pushes her off him and onto her back, snatching her knife out of her hand and trapping her beneath his body. His left hand holds the knife aloft, the other cushioning the back of her head.

 

He always does that, she remembers, every time they sparred, and she was about to fall and knock on her head he would somehow catch her, saying her brain is too precious for her to go around banging her head on stuff.

 

“You still think my head’s too precious?” she finds herself teasing.

 

Roan’s eyes sparkle, and he lounges down, crushing her lips against hers in a way that’s both desperate and heartbreaking. Raven sneaks her arms around his shoulders, up to his throat. Her left hand she fists into his hair, and he arches into her in a way that has her reconsidering for half a second.

 

She slams her open hand against the side of his throat to push him off and rolls up and onto her feet. He blinks at her and the mechanic smiles. “I am still mad at you.”

 

Roan chuckles, dark and vibrant and what the hell is she doing? She could be having fantastic sex with her husband instead of trying to prove a point she doesn’t remember anymore.

 

“Well played, meizen skaifaya.” They circle each other for a moment. “Are you going to tell me what this is really about or should I guess?”

 

“Go float yourself!”

 

They try a few attacks and grabs. Every time Raven lands a blow, the King sneaks a quick peck on her lips, which turns out to be both a perfect motivator and somewhat frustrating. Both too much and not nearly enough.

 

“This is about trigedasleng, isn’t it?” Roan asks, pulling lightly on her ponytail and leaping out of the way when she turns to punch him.

 

“How” Raven pants “the hell do you know?”

 

“It’s been a week. And you’re still with ‘Du nan frag en räv op.’ I know how frustrated you get when you don’t understand stuff.”

 

She lands a soft blow to his side, and he pulls her head back to kiss her, hard and brief, his breath ghosting over her cheek. She grabs his arm before he can step away. It feels nice in his arms.

 

“It’s unfair that you know so much about me and me so little about you, ” she says to his right pectoral. It’s a lovely pectoral; she has to admit, she could talk to it more often. It feels easier than looking the King in the face and saying these things.

 

His massive hand caresses the side of her head. “You know the important stuff. The rest you can relearn.”

 

“Well, I am still frustrated with your stupid language and was does Dun anfra en rav op mean anyway?”

 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Roan laughs, and she stomps on his foot half-heartedly. He kisses her temple this time. “It means ‘you wouldn’t kill a fox.’”

 

“That makes no sense,” she snuggles against his chest, and when he takes a step forward, and his legs ends up between hers, she just presses her hips forward for some much-needed friction.

 

“It’s a children’s story. I can read it to you sometime.”

 

When she finally looks up Roan’s eyes are on her, half-lidded and his smile soft. She can feel his hard-on against her hip and, well…

 

Raven licks her lips. “That would be nice.” Since they’re both quite worked up…. “Not now, though.”

 

He chuckles, dark like molten chocolate and she feels like she’s about to drown in his eyes until he swoops down and kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this has not been betaed. 
> 
> I've gotta admit I was not going to include Roan in this chapter, but then I got a lovely comment from @xorchidx and since she asked so nicely... Here you go, I hope it didn't let you down. 
> 
> And, of course, thank you all for reading.


	6. Midnight stroll

“It’s really not that hard” chuckles Roan.

 

They’re snuggling in bed, both naked, sweat still cooling on their skins. But since the book was already on her bedside table and there’s no reason not to cuddle and study this wretched language, Raven's now sitting against Roan’s side, his arm draped around her shoulders and the book resting on her extended legs. It’s still that stupid ‘Du nan frag en räv op,’ but at least she’s managed to read and adequately translate the first two pages. She already knows the main characters of the story – a farmer, Bob, and his three kids Bilaik, Mafta and Fop – and their general living conditions: a farm, not very wealthy but prosperous.

 

“Yeah, well, I am sure there are many things I find easy you can’t understand.”

 

“That is true” he rubs his bearded cheek against the side of her head and all but purrs, because apparently, when relaxed, her husband is a big cat.

 

“So, what is ‘ban up’ again?”

 

“ _Ban op_ means leave.”

 

“So they want the wolf…”

 

“Fox” he corrects automatically.

 

“Fox to leave? Why don’t they poison the thing already?”

 

Roan huffs a laugh, closes the book and taps on the title ‘ _Du nan frag en räv op,’_  you wouldn’t kill a fox. Which, if you ask Raven, is a pretty stupid policy when you have a rabbit farm and a fucking fox keeps stealing your live-stock – see, she understands the story. It’s just she keeps forgetting words and can’t pronounce it. “You’ll have to read all the way through to find out.” Roan purrs against her throat, beard abrading her skin in a very distracting way.

 

“I’ll probably die of old age before that.” The mechanic studies his bent head out of the corner of her eye. “You could tell me and save us all the heartbreak.”

 

“Uhu. You, my _meizen skaifaya_ , are a very impatient woman.”

 

Raven finds herself smiling lazily, not only because Roan’s attention to _that_ particular spot on her throat has her nearly boneless, but because that bloody nickname keeps popping up. Raven isn’t even sure what it means exactly – she’s very deliberately not checked the words – but it stirs her heart in ways that have a tiny part of her wishing he would never stop.  “And you told me you would read it to me.”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” he scrapes his teeth along the column of her throat. “However, I don’t recall saying _when_.”

 

Raven finds herself not caring all that much about the stupid story anyway when he pushes the book out of her hands and onto the floor, rolling her on her back in the same motion. Swooping hungrily on her chest.

 

“No, but seriously.” Against her chest, Roan groans “What is it with that stupid fox?”

 

“Really?” the king looks up and for a moment she thinks that maybe this can wait, at least until she’s gotten laid once more.

 

But her brain keeps going back to the absolutely ridiculous notion that a family would rather starve than deal with one single pesky fox. “You want to do this _now_?” and he looks down at her breasts like a child whose meal has been taken out of his mouth.

 

“I mean, come on. What fucked up logic do your storytellers use?”

 

Roan heaves a deep breath, looks mournfully down at her breasts again and pecks her cheek before rolling out of bed. “Alright, come on.”

 

The mechanic arches an eyebrow without moving; her bed is extremely comfortable and warm. “Where?”

 

“To the kennel.” He throws on some pants and his tunic while she just watches. It’s a very nice view she has here.

 

“Why?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Raven’s second eyebrow joins the first at the line of her hair, but curiosity gets the better of her and she eventually rolls out of the bed to put the brace and some nightgown on.

 

The palace is weirdly silent during the night, most lights have been switched off and the shadows lurk near the high ceilings and around the corners. There are strange silences and odd noises that seem to come from nowhere, whispers and shuffling from ghost feet.

 

Roan guides her through long stone corridors, his arm thrown across her shoulders, stopping her every few dozen steps to nuzzle at her throat and grope her; not that she doesn’t do her own share of groping and distracting him herself, so she’s not complaining.

 

The mechanic feels giddy, loose and weightless. They had a bottle of wine with their supper and then continued drinking in her antechamber until Raven decided sex was better than getting wasted and having her mind running circles around half-remembered stuff.

 

Now she’s no longer drunk, but her mind hasn’t gotten the memo yet, so she’s in a blissful state of carelessness.

 

“Did you know I was taller once?” she asks him from beneath the comfortable weight of his warm arm. Roan is hot – not only physically, which he is, you can wash clothes on his eight-pack – but also, his body temperature is not normal. Her feet and hands – in comparison – are frozen. Which means it’s nice when he stays the night because she tucks them against his and stays rather toasty all night.

 

“Were you?”

 

“Yup. I was nearly 5,6.”

 

He hums, the sound vibrating through the shoulder pressed against his chest. “Where did you leave all those inches?”

 

“Gravity here is a lot stronger than on space.” She looks up at him. His long nose and sharp cheekbones and sparkling eyes. This is the Roan she likes best: open and fun and relaxed. She thinks, maybe, she could _be_ with someone like him. “You would be around 6,2.”

 

“I’d rather stay on earth.” He says and that makes her sad. The thought that he will never know what it feels like to float, to be engulfed by darkness and not be afraid of possible monsters lurking.

 

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” She tries for cheerfulness but he sees right through her. Brings her to a stop, leaning lazily against a wall and dragging her towards him, so that her back is pressed flush against his chest, his chin resting on top of her head and his arms safely wound around her middle.

 

“Tell me?”

 

They stay like that for a moment. Raven can see shadows flickering against the stone walls, the soft orange glow of a torch hanging from a metal claw casting long lights against the floor.

 

“Sometimes” the mechanic finds herself telling the torch “when I can’t sleep, I lay on the balustrade in my balcony and look at the stars and imagine that I am up there.” She swallows the big lump in her throat, but it just migrates to her stomach. “Those are the only times I sort of feel at home.”

 

His grip tightens around her middle like he fears she’ll just float away if he lets go. Her words hang heavy between them for a moment and then: “I wasn’t supposed to be king.”

 

Roan doesn’t move and she says nothing for a moment. “My brother, Hector, was supposed to inherit the throne. But he was rash and… Some would call him _revolutionary_.” He spits the word like it has a foul taste. “His ideals didn’t bode well with my mother. She loved him, I guess, in her own way. She wouldn’t have forgiven as much if he hadn’t.”

 

She can feel him swallowing behind her and still she doesn’t say anything. “Hector led a coup. It didn’t end well. For any of us. The execution was very public and very messy. Nia would have killed me too if it weren’t for the fact that she needed an heir and was at an age where she couldn’t have anymore.”

 

Raven rubs her hands over his forearms, not sure what else to do. His skin is coarse, littered with tiny scars. “Sometimes I blame Echo for not being here to stop him. We were always better when it was the three of us.”

 

Raven frowns. “We’ve already had this conversation. Haven’t we?”

 

Roan sighs and drops a kiss on her hair. “Yes.”

 

She hums. “I remember. We were laying in bed. You had had a terrible day,” she can feel his thumbs caressing her sides over her nightgown, and she’s most definitely not dressed enough.

 

“Yes,” and there is so much relief in that single syllable.

 

They continue walking in silence for a little bit longer until they reach a room that smells like wet hair and blood. The soft dirt floor is covered with straw like the stables are and there are dark holes in the walls. As soon as Roan unlocks the door there’s a general commotion, and a dozen furry animals rush towards them, jumping at Roan and barking, tails wagging and tongues lolling out of sharp muzzles. “ _Set daun! Set daun!_ ” calls the King, laughing and rubbing the heads of the animals.

 

It takes Raven what is probably a very long time to recognize these animals: they’re _fecha_ \- she doesn’t remember the word in English. At least most of them are.

 

For some reason, the concept of “ _fecha_ ” is difficult to grasp for her. Like the concept of brother, sister, etcetera, it feels foreign.

 

Animals in general are, kind of, all the same to her. She’s seen the water-animals in the tanks down by the kitchens, and she’s visited – briefly – the pigpens. The only other animal she’s had any sort of interaction with is Einstein, because Rufus thought she was getting cabin fever a few weeks back and keeps insisting on taking her riding every other day.

 

The _fechar_ settle down, losing interest in their visitors and returning to whatever they were doing before. All but one of the few that hadn’t rushed to Roan’s side.

 

There are four like it: they have long, reddish fur with white muzzles and entrancing yellow eyes. Their faces are more delicate than the other dogs', and their bushy tails stay neatly tucked around their small black paws.

 

Roan whistles lowly extending his hand towards the one that has been watching. “ _Komba raoun,_ ” he says all soft and kind. The animal picks its way daintily towards them. It presses its muzzle to his extended palm and then rubs its whole head on it.

 

Roan’s smile snags her breath away. And then he looks up at her, and there’s something so young and innocent about his expression that takes her aback. “This is Lola” he says. “She’s a half-breed.” The animal bites on his hand lightly, he taps her muzzle softly. “Half fecha, half räv. Her and her brothers” he points at the other three reddish and elegant animals “are ones of a kind.”

 

The mechanic frowns, her hands itch to touch the soft looking animal, but its sharp teeth are very much visible around Roan’s forearm. “You can touch her.”

 

For a moment Raven isn’t sure if he’s talking to her or the fox. So she just awkwardly sits down, her braced leg extended to the side and the other tucked beneath herself and buries her hand in the thick fur of Lola’s neck.

 

“They’re called ‘rächa’ and are very difficult to come by because dogs and foxes don’t usually like each other,” Roan explains while Lola loses interest in his forearm and starts sniffing around Raven’s head sitting against her extended leg and looking at the mechanic with its beautiful, intelligent eyes. “They have the best of the fox and the loyalty of the dog, though. They make great guards. If they like you, that is. Rächa can be very moody”

 

“So, what does she have to do with ‘ _Du nan frag en räv op’_?”

 

“That was even nearly comprehensible trigedasleng,” he teases her and Raven levels him with an unimpressed stare. Lola snaps her teeth at him. “ _Yo shof op._ ”

 

“She likes me better than you” notes the mechanic rubbing between Lola’s ears and grinning at the dopey expression on the animal’s face.

 

“Of course she does” he deadpans. “You want to hear the story?”

 

“I don’t know why we had to come all the way here for you to tell it.”

 

“Because you have no clue what a fox looks like.”

 

“My book had pictures.” Roan huffs, shaking his head. His hair is loose, and wild, falling into his eyes. “Just tell the story, the suspense is killing me.”

 

“Alright then.” Roan takes a deep breath and starts his tale with

“Once upon a time there lived a farmer called Bob.

 

Bob had a few acres of land in which he grew vegetables. He also had a stable with one old horse, a pen with chickens and a big enclosure with rabbits. Bob wasn’t a rich farmer, but his crops were never overrun by vermin and the chickens always laid eggs. Around the farm, there were lush forests where he could hunt game during the harsh winter days.

 

Bob had three children: Bilaik, Mafta and Fop.

 

Bilaik was oldest, and thus followed his father into the forest for the hunts and organized the farm.

 

Mafta was the middle child, and as every middle child, he strived to be just like his brother and never quite managed.

 

Fop was the youngest and spoiled. He was rash to act and didn’t always think about the consequences of his actions.

 

As it happens, one year there was a drought and the crops on Bob’s field died. They had very little to eat themselves or to feed their rabbits, which grew with very little in the way of flesh on their bones.

 

So Bob sent his elder sons to hunt into the forest and instructed Fop to watch over the rabbits. They were very precious now: with neighboring farms in the same situation, the game in the forest would run scarce and thieves were bound to come to them.

 

Fop wasn’t very good at taking orders, and watching the rabbits was a very dull job indeed. So he fell asleep.

 

When he woke up, half the rabbits had vanished, leaving only a jumbled mash of dainty fox paw-tracks behind.

 

For once, Fop knew there was no way he could get out of this without punishment, so he set off to the forest to track the fox and bring back the thief’s head.

 

He set a trap and hid on top of a big tree. Waiting for hours and hours until yes! There came a fiery red fox.

 

With his belly full, the fox had grown confident and lazy, and it wasn’t long before he fell into Fop’s trap.

 

Patting himself on the back for a job well done, Fop jumped down from the tree and went over to the trap to chop the thief’s head off and be done with it.

 

“Hello, good master!” called the fox upon seeing him. “My name is Räv. I seem to have wandered into a trap. Would you care to help?”

 

And he smiled a shrewd smile. “You’ve stolen from me,” growled Fop, not impressed by the Räv’s politeness. “Law decrees that your life belongs to me.”

 

Räv scoffed. “You wouldn’t kill a fox, would you?”

 

Fop frowned at that. He had expected excuses and lies. “Why not?”

 

“Haven’t you heard? I am the last of the foxes. The drought has killed them all.” Räv affected a despairing tone. “Now I must do the work of a thousand foxes all by my lonesome!”

 

“Well, it’s not a great loss, if you ask me.” Fop smiled, already thinking of the great rewards he would get if he rid the world of foxes. “No more thieves and liars lurking in the shadows.”

 

Räv cocked his head to the side. “But who will do fox’s job?”

 

“What job?”

 

“You know: keeping the crops free of vermin and the wolf hungry. Without us, the balance of the whole forest will crumble.”

 

Fop laughed. That was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard. “We can keep vermin out of our crops ourselves. And a fed wolf poses no danger to us!”

 

And with that, he chopped Räv’s head off.

 

Fop returned home, whistling happily and showed everyone who cared to see the fox’s head. “Fool!”, cried Bob. “You don’t know what you have done!”

 

“I have caught our rabbit thief!” answered Fop with the righteousness of the young.

 

“You have condemned this family and this land!”

 

Fop didn’t believe a word his father said, the same he hadn’t believed Räv, but that _had_ been the last fox on the land and, by removing him from the forest, it grew out of control. The wolves hadn’t anyone to steal their food from them, and thus became fat and lazy. Overfed they drove the game out of the land. The vermin, bold with no one to hunt them down, grew audacious and razed the farm’s lands. Plants grew meager with so many little mice and hares feeding, and soon the lands moved to bury Bob’s farm under heavy mud.

 

And that is why you don’t kill a fox.”

 

“For fear of losing your farm?”

 

“Because it might be the last one. With foxes, you never know.” He pats the _rächa_ ’s head fondly. “Everyone of us has a job to do. Remove a job you think is worthless and you might destroy the whole world.”

 

Raven hums, still scratching behind Lola’s ears. The animal looks at her with a dopey, happy expression.

 

Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? If you remove an element out of a formula, the whole thing falls around your ears. Usually with a huge, satisfying bang.

 

“Haihefa?”

 

She looks up to see a young man she recognizes as Chris kom Wodakru standing by the door. He’s tall, thin, with a sharp face, unnervingly keen, bright eyes and thin mouth forever set in a slight frown. He’s dressed in a wool tunic and leather pants, much like everyone else in the Winter Palace, but his clothes are richly stitched with golden thread, and his hair is woven with white pearls and shells.

 

Raven likes Chris, even though she really doesn’t trust him. They’ve met a few times since he’s one of Roan’s best friends and viceroy to his home-province Wodagroun. A soft-spoken, apparently kind man, who likes to sit back and watch drama unfold before his eyes.

 

“ _Echo komba raun_ ”, Chris says, apparently unsure of how much he can say in front of Raven.

 

Roan nods, stands up, brushing the dirt off his pants and offering a hand to Raven to pull her up. “We’ll be right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the trigedasleng dictionary that I've been using for the language doesn't have the word "fox" in it, I just went and borrowed "räv" from Swedish, because even if this happens in the Post-Apocalyptic USA, I still headcanon Azgeda as Norse. 
> 
> As always this wasn't beta'd.  
> Thank you so much for reading.


	7. The seeds

If Raven had thought that Echo finding out more about her attack would somehow bring everything rushing back, she would have been in for a big disappointment. But after two months, Raven has accepted that the odds of getting all her memories back are rather slim.

 

Yes, she’s been remembering new stuff. Just bits and pieces really. Faces she doesn´t recognize that – since they’re nowhere to be found in the Winter Palace – probably belong to skaikru people; small, meaningless scenes of a life that’s mostly blank, contextless snippets of conversation.

 

She remembers the long metallic corridors of a space station – the Ark; the soft words of her childhood sweetheart – Finn; the dark twisted anger of betrayal when Finn betrayed her with Blondie – Clarke?; the terrible pain of a drill in her spine; a kind arm around her middle helping her run from enemy fire.

 

She remembers seeing Roan handcuffed, covered in scratches, dirt and dried blood. She remembers not knowing what to make of him and Grim telling her he was Azgeda’s king. She remembers being introduced to a – slightly – cleaner version of Roan, face covered in white ash and eyes dark with coal. Echo standing behind her king, arms crossed defiantly across her chest. She remembers Grim being sassy and passive aggressive to the warrior, and the usually unflappable woman, shy and uncomfortable.

 

Raven rushes down the corridor next to Roan.

 

They’ve cleaned and dressed themselves up, which means the king wears his leather breastplate, heavy fur cloak, and swords strapped to his back, while Raven’s in her usual pants, a short tunic, and a jacket.

 

They reach the Council Room in which Echo and the rest of the viceroys are waiting. It’s a roundish stone chamber with three small windows to the left that open to the side of the mountain. Rich tapestries cover the walls, and intricate mosaics decorate the floors.

 

Roan's face is an unnerving mask that gives nothing away as he guides Raven into the room. The ten viceroys stand up to present their respects.

 

The royal pair takes their seats on the two thrones flanked by the high-backed chairs of the councilmen and women. Raven knows most of them by now: the completely unfamiliar ones are the ancient guy with the small slanted eyes and the younger man sitting between him and Matilde on the far left corner. Thanks to her lessons with Dorian Raven knows that they’re both from the southern regions that border with Skaikru’s territory. The elder man is called Thorsten, the younger man, Reynard.

 

In the middle of the room, with Echo’s knife to his throat, kneels a beaten bloody man they soon learn is a wandering healer called Eric.

 

Raven does not recognize him.

 

One of the councilwomen barks something in trigedasleng, and Roan growls back, almost lazily, his face conveying nothing and his eyes cold and unforgiving. The councilwoman blushes to the roots of her red hair. “I asked if this is one of the men that attacked our queen?”, she asks in English.

 

“No” answers Echo. Out of the corner of her eye, Raven sees Roan narrowing his eyes very slightly. “But he’s been trading stolen goods and swearing fealty to the  _Drop of Hainofi_.”

 

“Do you have proof?” asks Chris.

 

Echo bristles. She drags the man closer to the chair semicircle. One of his arms looks broken, bent at an awkward angle and hanging limply at his side.

 

“I am an honest man!” he cries nearly falling on his face when Echo’s grip on his worn clothes slips. “I haven’t stolen anything! I swear!”

 

“I can’t believe I have been dragged out of bed for this” grumbles Thorsten. “Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrows’ court?”

 

There’s a soft murmur of agreement. Roan doesn’t react, and Raven isn’t sure what she’s supposed to be doing here. She only knows about repairing and building stuff; thieves and dissidents are Roan’s job. He doesn’t come into her workshop, and she doesn’t participate in matters of state.

 

“He had this on him when I found him,” says Echo holding a soft piece of worn painted leather with the Azgedan delegation Symbol: an open hand with a jagged spiral inside the palm. Only this hand’s middle finger is missing. “And also” she steps closer to the King’s throne and leaves a ring on the armrest between him and Raven.

 

The mechanic blinks down at it. It’s a relatively simple ring: two red-gold bands flanking a silver one. It looks old, and it’s dirty, but Raven knows it’s exactly the same width as the white untanned shadow on her ring finger.

 

Roan’s face has been impassive before, but now it’s a stone-cold blank mask. It has stopped being slightly unnerving to become extremely creepy. So much so, Raven has to fight the urge to squirm in her seat, even when he’s very purposefully _not_ looking at her.

 

“This is Haiplana’s Ring.” There’s something eerie in the calm measured way he speaks. “Care to explain how it fell into your hands?”

 

“It was given to me! They were in need of healing and paid in jewels!”, cries the man, a desperate edge to his voice. “I swear. My fealty is with _Haihefa Roan kom Azgeda_!”

 

Roan hums. The old viceroy of the southern province leans forward. “Who traded this to you?”

 

“I don’t know them. They were _splita_!”

 

“So you knew it was stolen?” asks the red-headed woman next to Raven – Alex, from the western province of Greenlands.

 

Erik shakes his head in a very unconvincing way. “They threatened my life if I didn’t save the _frikdreina_ ” he whimpers pitifully “and paid me in jewels afterward.”

 

“And what of the _Drop of Hainofi_ symbol? These _splita_ gave it to you, too?” demands Chris to Roan’s right.

 

The obviously terrified Erik shrinks back, crying silently and shaking his head with snot running down his chin. The mechanic’s stomach churns, there’s something very wrong with this whole situation, but she cannot put her finger on exactly _what_ doesn’t fit.

 

“You know this symbol was forbidden twenty years ago by Haiplana Nia.” This is Matilde, looking all royal and composed on her high-backed chair. Like many of the viceroys, she’s only half dressed: a silky robe pooling around her slippered feet, her long white-blond hair flowing over one shoulder in a long braid.

 

Erik flinches, crawling backward on his knees until his back collides with Echo’s thighs, physically trying to get away from Matilde. His eyes flit very briefly between Roan and Raven “I swear, Haihefa! I have done nothing wrong!”

 

Raven picks the ring up. It feels strange in her hand. When she slips it on her finger, it sits wrong. She rubs at it with the nail of her thumb, turning it this and that way with her pinky. But no matter how she spins it she can’t find the tiny crease where her nail usually snags.

 

With a frown she looks up at Roan’s face, ready to tell them this is not her ring. The sudden sense of dread is nearly overpowering.

 

It’s not only that his face is unreadable: It’s something deeper, something she can’t put her finger on but that has the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

 

‘ _This man’_ whispers a voice in the back of her mind ‘ _is not trustworthy_.’ And so she closes her hand around the ring and stays quiet as the council bickers and argues about Erik’s fate.

 

After a few minutes, Roan stands up, his face still expressionless. “Take him to Elsa. I expect a full report by tonight.”

 

Echo bows her head. “Yes, Haihefa,” she says before grabbing Erik by the back of his clothes and dragging him kicking and screaming through a side door. Most of the viceroys are very pointedly looking at the two retreating forms, except for Thorsten and Reynard, both of them have brought their heads together and are whispering. Their stares threatening to burn a hole in the mechanic’s head.

 

Raven can still hear the wandering healer’s screams echoing around the stone corridors when Roan stands up. “We will resume during this morning’s court session”

 

“What about the reappearance of the Drop of Hanofi symbol?”, asks Chris, a clear edge in his voice.

 

“Later,” repeats Roan offering his arm to Raven. A shiver runs down her back when she touches the king, but she keeps her hand on his forearm and follows him out of the room.

 

The mechanic chews on her lower lip; Roan’s face is still unreadable. “What is drop of Hanofi?”

 

“A dissident movement.”

 

Raven waits for him to continue talking, but he doesn’t, and she knows he won’t say anything else.

 

They walk the rest of the way to her room in silence, and as soon as they reach the door, he turns on his heel and leaves without another word. The mechanic watches him leave, waiting by her door until he vanishes down the corridor, presumably into his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been tinkering with this for some time and I am still not convinced. But I cannot look at this chapter for a second longer, so here it is. 
> 
> As always this was unbetaed.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting :)


	8. Voices in the dark

Raven sits in front of her workbench turning the newly built long-distance portable radio in her hands, making sure everything is ok. Low static hum fills the room when she activates it. “Hello?”

 

It feels strange that she hasn’t thought to contact skaikru until now, but she felt safe here, somewhat. Now… Now she cannot stop thinking of Roan’s impassive face and the sharp-edged smile on Matilde’s face. The fact that Echo’s loyalty lies with Roan and the mechanic cannot be sure the king’s interest and hers really align.

 

From what she can remember and has been able to piece together from her fractured dreams and memories, there’s someone on skaikru territory she trusts with her life; someone that has been there for her and will always be there for her. “Hello?”

 

The static changes for a moment like it’s hitching, or clearing a hypothetic throat. “Hello?” the voice is clear and it nags at the back of Raven’s mind. She should know this voice.

 

“Hi,” Raven says feeling awkward. “This is Raven?”

 

“OH MY GOD!”, the voice exclaims. “How are you radioing? We thought the Winter Palace was too far away for radio communication! _You_ told us it was too far away! How have you been? How’s the king? Have the snows started to wall you in yet? Are you excited for this year’s Solstice Ceremony? How are you feeling?”

 

Raven blinks at her small radio, taken aback by the onslaught of quickly fired questions with no room to actually answer any of them. “I… I can’t recognize your voice?” that is a plausible lie, the mechanic tells herself “Who are you?”

 

The girl laughs. “I’m Harper.” Nope, Raven still has no clue who that is. “My own bun is nearly out of the oven, that’s why I’m on radio duty. Doctor’s orders” for some reason Raven can nearly picture her rolling her eyes, even though her face is a mystery to her. “I can’t wait to be out of here again. It’s so boring. But cool. We can compare notes.”

 

Raven forces out a laugh. “That _would_ be cool.” If I knew what sort of notes you want to compare, she doesn’t say. “But I need to talk to Sinclair first.”

 

The line goes back to static so abruptly Raven fears the connection has been lost. Then Harper’s voice comes back soft and frightened. “Did you just say Sinclair?”

 

Raven frowns. “Yes?” By now she has learned to pick up the signs when she screws up, asks something she ought to remember. But what should she remember about Sinclair that she hasn’t?

 

She remembers he was her mentor – a far better teacher than Dorian is -; he trusts her with everything and so does she: He’s the first person she would turn to when she had a problem she couldn’t find a solution to. She remembers his kind face and his stout frame. He gives the best hugs.

 

“I’m fetching…” Harper clears her throat. “One moment.”

 

More than a moment passes, but Raven doesn’t notice. She’s concentrating, throwing her mind back through the dark recesses of her memory, trying to find what is wrong with Sinclair.

 

Maybe they had a fight? Maybe they’re not talking because he’s angry with her? Or she with him? But that doesn’t matter. He will help. Raven can’t think of anything bad enough she could have done that would make him turn his back on her when she needs him.

 

The voice that cuts through her concentration is a deep feminine voice she automatically recognizes as Clarke’s.

 

“Raven? Are you ok?” Clarke asks, clearly distraught. On the background, she can hear Grim and Harper talking, but cannot make out the words. Why has Harper called Clarke and Grim?

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Harper says you want to talk to Sinclair?” that’s Grim’s deep growly voice.

 

“Yes.” So why the hell are you two here? She doesn’t ask, but the words are on the tip of her tongue.

 

“Raven” Clarke’s talking very slowly “What has happened?”

 

“Nothing has happened. I just want to talk to him.” The mechanic is about to tell them she wants to beg Sinclair to forgive her for whatever she has done, so that they’re not at odds anymore, but Grim’s voice cuts through her like a knife. “Sinclair died nearly ten years ago.”

 

The radio doesn’t slip out of her hand, but it’s a close call. She doesn’t remember him dying. She doesn’t… “How?”

 

“Emerson. He killed him during the A.L.I.E. Crisis.” And Clarke seems about to say she’s sorry, but doesn’t. Raven can’t breathe, her mind scrambling to pull itself out of an ever-growing pit of despair.

 

The mechanic forces her brain to change tracks. First she finds a solution to her problem. _Then_ she can deal with _feelings_.

 

In her dreams, Clarke and Grim seem trustworthy. They’re a constant, helping her, most of the time. “On my way back to the Winter Palace” she explains slowly looking at the gold and silver ring sitting innocently on the workbench next to the radio “I was attacked.” She can hear someone inhaling sharply. “And I lost my memories.”

 

A heavy silence falls over the three of them, only interrupted by the constant, comforting hum of static. “It’s been nearly two months.” Grim sounds hurt and accusing if Raven wasn’t numb, she would probably feel guilty. These two are her friends. Apparently.

 

“I was trying to come to terms with everything, relearn the language and… well… everything.”

 

“Have you talked to Hilda?” asks Clarke in what Raven recognizes as her ‘doctor-y voice’. Grim tends to make fun of her whenever she uses that voice outside of med-bay or doctor-related situations.

 

“Yeah, she says the memories will be coming back through dreams and stuff.”

 

There’s another long pause in which Raven can nearly see Grim and Clarke having a full conversation consisting entirely of looks. Fuckers. “And the baby?”

 

“What baby?” the mechanic asks, tiredly. She should have just asked what they think of the King and her chances of being slaughtered in her sleep. All these questions and explanations are bound to give her a headache.

 

“Raven” and Clarke’s doctor-y voice has a tone that she kind of dreads, even though she’s not sure why “you were four months pregnant when you left for the Winter Palace.”

 

Raven’s hand finds her flat belly. The ache she felt for the first few weeks sliding into context in a way that has her brain stumbling over everything that threatens to crash over her.

 

Because she remembers. She remembers wanting that kid and speaking softly to the bump when she was alone. She remembers telling it about Roan and their home. She remembers sitting with Harper, talking about their different stages and how Raven was planning on building her child to come a small rocket ship. How she had wished she could show them the stars and what it felt like to be in zero-g.

 

“Raven?” that’s Grim’s voice, once again effectively cutting through the haze and the mechanic latches onto that voice, forcing her brain to switch gears once again.

 

She steps away from the pain, purposefully turning her back to it and concentrating on the problem at hand. _That_ she can solve. The problem is what’s important here. Feelings are a nuisance that will only be on the way.

 

Her voice comes slightly strangled when she asks “did Roan know?”

 

Clarke and Grim probably share another meaningful look before she answers “I don’t know.”

 

“How high are the chances that he would have ordered the attack?”

 

On the other side of the line, she hears them splutter. Clarke’s “Roan would never…” abruptly interrupted by Grim’s “Do you feel like you’re in danger?”

 

“Bellamy!” cries Clarke in dismay.

 

“Can you tell me you know what that guy thinks?” grumbles Bellamy – Grim’s name is Bellamy - and Raven can practically see his raised eyebrows and Clarke flustering “But he loves Raven”, she says with not much conviction.

 

“Really? That is what you’re basing your assessment on?” at that Clarke would throw him a poisonous look. “Are you willing to put Raven’s life on the line?” Bellamy’s voice is not as harsh now. Clarke is probably deflating.

 

“Well… From a strategic point of view” the woman sounds so tired, Raven feels kind of guilty. Except, as Bellamy said it’s her life on the line. “I guess he could have done it.”

 

Raven frowns. “Strategic point of view?”

 

Clarke exhales an explosive sigh. She probably rubs her temple, too. “Well… The treaty made a lot of people very angry, because azgeda is very traditional, and the king doesn’t usually marry ‘foreigners’, that sort of thing happens to lowlier nobles. Roan was supposed to marry some good ‘azgedan girl’ so that the royal bloodline wouldn’t be tainted” Raven has heard a similar story from Dorian, not with so many words, but… “If he were to find himself suddenly a widow he could still marry a proper az woman.”

 

There is a tiny pause. “He wouldn’t be able to kill you himself because that would break our deals with azgeda and skaikru is now powerful enough to be a potential threat to the country.”

 

“Cool, that means he won’t slit my throat while I sleep.” The mechanic makes a mental note to hide some sort of weapon beneath her pillow in case this changes for some reason.

 

“He would also have to punish very severely whoever did it, too, to keep appearances with skaikru. So his most trusted assassins are out of the picture, too.”

 

Raven rubs at her temples more forcefully. “I really need to start understanding bloody trigedasleng.”

 

“Don’t you have a translator?” asks Bellamy.

 

“Translator?” Are they stupid? Is she supposed to start trusting whoever gets appointed as her translator? Have they somehow not been listening?

 

“Well, you’ve always sucked at learning languages” on the background the mechanic can hear Clarke slapping him and has to hide a smile when she hears him squeaking an indignant “What? It’s true!”

 

“Anyway” continues Clarke in a way that makes it kind of obvious that they’re used to pick the thread of each other’s conversations “it was a tiny box that translated trigedasleng to English directly into an earpiece. You were using it all the time at first because you kind of refused to learn the language for like… two years.”

 

Raven frowns, looking around her workshop. It’s either in here, or she dismantled it for parts.

 

“If you think you’re in danger, you don’t need to stay there,at ” says Bellamy with a strange sort of emphasis. “I’ll take the rover and pick you up whenever you want.”

 

“Thanks.” And it is sort of reassuring, knowing there is someone is ready to drop everything and come to her rescue. Then again Roan had fooled her into a sense of security, into a sense that he would also be there for her. That he cared. “I… I need some time to get everything straight… I don’t think…” Raven takes a deep breath “I don’t think I am in imminent danger”, she lies.

 

There is a small pause before she hears Bellamy sighing “Ok. But if anything changes…”

 

“I’ll let you know.”

 

“Raven.” Clarke sounds kind of defeated. “He chose you, I… for what is worth… He does love you.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

She cuts the connection shortly after, feeling unsteady, empty and over-full.

 

Her free hand keeps rubbing her belly. It is too much, too many emotions warring for her attention, and it becomes increasingly difficult to turn her back on them. The memories don’t come flooding back, not exactly. But she sort of remembers stuff, things that hadn’t really made sense without this information.

 

Why would they keep that from her? Why not tell her? Why…

 

She’s suddenly yanked from her thoughts by a soft knock on the door. For a moment she considers just not answering, maybe they’ll go away.

 

Then again it might be Roan and she really wants to give him a piece of her mind. Impending assassination be damned. Anger flares bright and hot in her veins, burning away the insecurities and fear.

 

“Who is it?” she growls, standing up and hobbling to the door, because the foot of her bad leg has fallen asleep, her eyes falling on a pile of old equipment next to the door.

 

“ _Reynard kom Sodragrun, Haiplana_.” There is a pause. “Can I come in?”

 

Raven frowns. He’s the young advisor with the narrow beautiful face and clever eyes.

 

Why would one of Roan’s advisors come to her study? Neither of the other nine has done it before. Were they friends? Was it normal for him to come chat to her in her workshop before? Or has something happened? A tiny part in her mind she instantly hates asks ‘Is Roan OK?’

 

“Yes.” She growls, frustrated with that tiny inappropriate part of her brain. Roan is a potential foe, he has lied to her – at least by omission, and who knows what else… - and there’s the very real possibility that he ordered her attack. So, no, no feeling anxious for that two-faced, beautiful ass.

 

The door opens. The viceroy smiles at her, the rächa Lola slips into the room before he can take a step. His eyes travel to the red-furred creature rubbing her head against the mechanic’s legs.

 

“She missed you.” Raven’s eyes snap up to the viceroy’s face. There’s something decidedly soft at the way he looks at her. Something that makes her feel wrong-footed. She definitely should remember something about this guy. “As did I.” He smiles, blushing and looks away.

 

For a moment neither move and then he rubs the back of his neck in a boyish manner. “I am sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. There were… complications on the border with trikru territory. I was afraid the paths would’ve been snowed in before I could make the journey.”

 

“When did you arrive?” she asks, at a loss of what else to say. The unsteadiness in her voice is so evident she wants to wince. Reynard comes closer and brushes his hand against the side of her face.

 

“The other day.” His voice is low and deep, his movements slow and kind as he wraps himself around her, pulling her closer to his chest and pressing the side of his clean-shaven face on the top of her head. “What has upset you so?” he whispers so softly it feels like a fatal blow that manages to shatter her utterly.

 

Without noticing, she slings her arms around this virtual stranger, pressing close into his warm embrace, hiding her face in the familiar smell of fur and leather and cries, heaving big trembling sobs.

 

She cries for the baby she’s lost, for her mentor whom she doesn’t remember as much as she wants to, even for sweet Finn, who plagues her nightmares making her feel both safe and so very lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and all those lovely comments and kudos. You're all wonderful.


	9. The Betrayal

Lola watches Raven as she attaches the little device to the false wall that opens into Roan’s study. She found the device in a pile of unused dusty equipment near the door to her workshop and after checking the connections and surreptitiously using it during her lesson with Dorian, she can assure the thing works like a charm.

 

Which is just as well, because she’s sick and tired of secrets and this stupid language getting in the way. She will discover what is going on once and for all.

 

Lola cocks her head to the side, staring at her with her beautiful yellow eyes.

 

The rächa stayed behind after Reynard left and has been following her around wherever she goes. Raven had been tempted to take the animal back to the kernel. Right until she saw the tightening of Roan’s jaw that night when Lola preceded her into the dining room and curled happily at Raven’s feet.

 

The mechanic decided to keep her then and there, just to spit the king. If he has something to say, he’s very welcome to do so; Raven’s not about to go around guessing what’s gotten his panties in a twist.

 

She switches the device on and puts her hand into her pocket to take out the little headpiece.

 

Which is not there.

 

Raven exhales an exasperated sigh but bites her tongue when she hears the door on the other side of the wall creaking open. She gathers her tools as quickly and quietly as possible and ushers Lola down the corridor.

 

It takes her a bit to make it all the way back to her workshop and find the tiny headpiece tucked between a welding machine and a tiny mountain of screws she’s re-purposing.

 

When she sticks it into her hear she fears the translator is too far away, but after fiddling with the volume and tiny knobs there comes the crackling of voices and then the mechanical translation over Roan’s growl: “I said no!”

 

Someone she doesn’t recognize says: “Please reconsider.”

 

“This,” says a voice she thinks belongs to viceroy Chris “is what’s best for Azgeda, and you know it.”

 

“It’s my wife’s life what we’re talking about here. If it were to…”

 

“It won’t” that’s Mystery Voice again.

 

“It is a very risky move,” purrs viceroy Alex, her feminine voice a distinct contrast to the others “but there’s so much to gain. Think about it, my king. We could have peace at last.”

 

Those words seem to give Roan pause, which is the moment for Chris to drive the nail home with: “Don’t let your feelings get in the way of your duty.”

 

Raven can practically see Roan glaring at him.

 

“Our window of action is very slim,on” says Alex. “The Winter Solstice Celebration is in a week’s time and we still haven’t found…”

 

She cuts off and for a moment Raven fears the machine has malfunctioned. Then Roan speaks lowly. “We have its mate, the fox will come ‘round.”

 

Mystery Voice snorts. “Your trust in those creatures never ceases to amaze me.”

 

Another pause.

 

“Are you sure she will not back down?”

 

“For you, my king? She’ll go to the ends of the world; that I assure you.” Roan hums. “Believe me, Roan” her tone is softer now. “And after the appropriate mourning period…”

 

Raven doesn’t dare move. For a few minutes there’s silence and then Chris says, very softly “Roan…”

 

“What?” he sounds tired.

 

“This is for the best.” Silence. "When this is all over, we will look back at this time. And remember it fondly."

 

"Good night, Chris."

 

A heavy sigh.

 

"Good night, my king."

 

In Raven's arms Lola whimpers from how hard she's clutching the rächa to her chest. The mechanic tries taking in deep breaths. Deep calming breaths, but her lungs feel fist sized and not nearly big enough. She brushes the warm tears angrily away with the back of her hand.

 

Well, nice to have confirmation of what she already suspected.

 

She caresses Lola’s soft black ears for a moment, mulling over everything she’s heard, because something there rubs her the wrong way.

 

Roan has said they have ‘the fox’s mate’. What is it with this man and stupid foxes? First the cross-breed foxes in his kernel, then the bloody talking foxes in his tale. He even talked about a skaikru fox, now that she thinks about it.

 

“You know what?” the rächa looks at her with bright yellow eyes. “Foxes can’t talk.”

 

She’s certain there weren’t any animals in skaikru territory. The metal halls in her memories are populated only by humans. So, what does ‘skaikru fox’ really mean?

 

A sudden knock on her door has her jumping nearly a foot into the air, heart in her throat.

 

“What?!”

 

The door opens tentatively and in looks Rufus.

 

“It’s dinner time?” he frowns at her. “Are you alright Haiplana?”

 

“Yep, just peachy.” Rufus’ frown deepens. “I don’t think I’ll be eating with the king today.”

 

The warrior shifts on his feet. “Haihefa has requested your attendance…”

 

Raven stands up, letting Lola fall down at her feet. “And I am the fucking queen. And I said I don’t want to eat with him. And if he has a problem with it he can come himself and say so!”

 

Rufus straightens slightly, eyes wide and mouth slack. He steps quickly out of the way when Raven pushes past him and storms off to her room.

 

The slam of the door behind her is extremely satisfying.

 

A few minutes later Hannah comes into the room with a tray laden with food. “Rufus informed me you would be eating by yourself?” she offers when Raven opens the door for her.

 

The kind smile on the maid’s face soothes a little the hurt and pain from today’s discoveries.

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

The maid makes quick work of setting the tray on the table by the window where Raven and Roan usually take their breakfast together and then goes into Raven’s bedroom to prepare the bed for her.

 

It still feels funny having someone doing all these menial tasks for her, but whenever Raven tries to help, she gets shooed away.

 

Hannah steps out of the room when the mechanic sits at her table and gives her a worried look.

 

“Do you want me to fetch the healer?” she asks softly.

 

Raven is about to snap at the maid, but remembers - sort of – that she isn’t really angry with her. Hannah has always been solicitous, kind and friendly. ‘Lulling you into a false sense of safety’ whispers a voice in the back of her mind. She ignores it.

 

“No, thank you, Hannah.”

 

The smile she gets is small and doesn’t reach Hannah’s eyes. “Just call if you should need anything.”

 

Raven isn’t really hungry, but the tray is laden with all her favorite backed goods and dried meats, so she sits down and eats. The mechanic isn’t sure why, but whenever there’s food she has the sudden urge to have a bite – and put at least one roll into her pocket.

 

It’s like an instinct she can’t shake: even when there’s enough food to eat until her tummy aches, the fear that there will come a moment when there’s not nearly enough keeps her on her toes.

 

It takes approximately half an hour before another knock on her door comes. After a beat the door opens and Roan pokes his head in.

 

“Raven?”

 

“Go away!” snarls Raven around her third roll. She’s very definitely ignoring the small jar of jam sitting close to the basket of baked goodies. That is the same jam Roan spreads over the bloody cheese-roll they share every morning and she’s not in the bloody mood to inspect the urge to cry she has every time she looks at it.

 

Instead of leaving he steps into the room. Slowly, tentatively like he’s expecting a blow to come from anywhere. At her feet Lola stands up from where she had been gnawing at a bone Hannah had left on the try for her and growls at the king, her lips furrowed and ears flat against her head. The mechanic does not rise. She remains sitting, her shoulder towards the king and her knife loosely held in her hand.

 

Echo has taught her the art of intimidation: It’s not who brandishes weapons threateningly who has the upper hand, but who can casually hold a blade in full view, like it’s just an extension of her arm. Raven is feeling very connected to her blade right about now.

 

The king doesn’t come closer and Lola stops growling when Raven runs a hand through her soft fur, but she doesn’t sit down either, watching Roan closely.

 

“What is going on?”

 

“Nothing,” Raven says, and she manages a pretty nonchalant tone, too, so kudos for her.

 

“Why wouldn’t you eat with me?”

 

She hates his guts. Hates that he can manage to look so innocent and hurt, like it’s her who has wronged him.

 

“I didn’t know it was mandatory.”

 

His frown bothers her, even though she doesn’t know why and wants very much to stay mad at him. “We’ve always dined together.”

 

“Well, things change” Raven grits out. “Get out of my sight.”

 

The king crosses his arms across his chest. “What is this about, Raven?”

 

“It’s about me not wanting to see your lying face anymore.” She manages a hard-edged smile. “Get. Out.”

 

His frown deepens and her fingers curl more firmly around the handle of her knife. She could throw it at his face. Sticking it into his eye sounds like an extremely pleasing outcome to this conversation.

 

“My lying face?” Roan’s voice is toneless as he repeats her words.

 

The mechanic deliberately sits back on her chair, knuckles white from how hard she’s clutching her knife, but as angry as she is, her voice comes out firm and hard. “Have you lied to me?”

 

Roan swallows, for a moment he doesn’t say anything and then answers firmly “No.”

 

Something shatters inside her.

 

Raven takes a deep breath, turning away from him to take another bite of her roll. It tastes like ash, but she chews it slowly until she’s nearly sure her voice will come out strong and nonchalant. “Why didn’t you tell me I was pregnant?”

 

Surprisingly it’s easier saying it than thinking about it. Than remembering the curve of her belly and the weight and the bloody morning sickness and the way she had missed Roan during her stay in skaikru territory and how Clarke told her it was because her hormones were all over the place…

 

The mechanic feels a thrilling sense of victory uncoiling in her stomach when the king tales a physical step back, eyes widening and skin paling. Take that you asshole! Points to her for destabilizing the manipulative prick!

 

When she notices the slight tremor of his hands, she forces herself to ignore it. Ignore the way he makes his shoulders sag with defeat, the press of his lips in a fine line.

 

The bastard swallows and Raven has to give it to him: he’s a hell of an actor.

 

She nearly believes the defeated façade.

 

She hates him.

 

“Raven…” he starts. “You were going through so much already…” his voice pleading.

 

Oh, how she hates him!

 

“You had no right to keep that from me.”

 

“What was I supposed to do?!” he roars, hands fisted at his sides, shoulders pushed back in defiance, his whole countenance changing in the blink of an eye. A muscle ticks in his jaw. At Raven’s feet Lola growls again, tail stiff. “Tell me! What do you want me to do!”

 

“Tell me the truth!”

 

His laugh is dark and dangerous making her blood run cold. He’s dangerous and powerful and he exudes both, his bearing changing once more and it’s dizzying and terrifying. In the last few minutes he’s shown her so many faces, Raven isn’t sure which one is the real one and her heart twists painfully in her chest.

 

The king stalks closer, his shadow dwarfing the mechanic in her seat. Still she refuses to stand. She’s not about to let this ass intimidate her.

 

“The truth?” his growl so low it nearly vibrates in her bones. “Is that what you want?” If Raven hadn’t been watching him as closely as she is, she might have missed the way his left eye ticked. “The truth is you were supposed to do one thing in this marriage. And you failed delivering.”

 

Raven stares at him, her brain stuttering to a halt.

 

Roan stays where he is. “What? You don’t like what you’re hearing?”

 

He levels her with an unnerving stare, his face whipped clean of emotion, just a blank canvas with a nearly imperceptible tick around his left eye.

 

Raven breathes in through her nose, trying very hard to think through the pain, the betrayal and the burning anger.

 

Slowly, very slowly, she unfolds from her chair, turns her back to him and walks calmly towards her room, closing the door slowly behind herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... The weather is looking nice today. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. They make my day, every single one of them.


	10. The fox's mate

Raven sleeps fitfully that night, plagued by strange nightmares. At one point she feels a soft pressure against the top of her head and a warm breath ghosting over her ear.

 

But when she opens her eyes it’s the sun streaming through the opened curtains and she’s alone except for Lola curled up on a pillow next to her bed. She stays in the bed for a while, considering yesternight’s… _exchange_ with Roan. Turning everything she knows over and over in her head.

 

There is a bunch of missing pieces, but an image has started forming and she’s not sure she likes it.

 

“ _We have its mate_.” Roan had said to his advisors. “ _The fox will come round_.”

 

Raven studies Lola napping on her pillow. Fox is code for something. Some _one_. And if they have that someone’s ‘mate’, there’s really only one place where they would keep them.

 

With a sigh, Raven pushes the covers off, takes a deep breath and rolls out of bed.

 

Once she’s ready to leave, the rächa trots to her side and together they slip out of the room through the hidden door.

 

The secret corridors are cool, dark and somber. Lola’s claws click on the stone floor with each step and their breaths echo against the walls. Raven finds her way down to the dungeons on her first try. Which is pretty impressive if she dares say so herself.

 

The secret door opens into a side corridor that leads to Elsa’s office: a small dark room cozily decorated with a fireplace, wooden furniture and an array of colorful, cracked plates hanging from the walls. The faded pictures on them show a few dozen kittens in various playful positions, most of them including balls of wool and flower arrangements.

 

When Raven enters the room the dungeon mistress is seated, feet kicked on top of her desk, a plate with a severed hand next to her polished boots and sketchpad laying on her thighs.

 

Elsa looks up and jumps upright in an outburst of movement so sudden and uncoordinated her pencil clatters to the floor. “Haiplana! I wasn’t expecting you!”

 

There’s an awkward pause, the mechanic cannot tear hear eyes off the severed hand on the tabletop. It’s sitting incongruously in one of the kitten plates. Elsa blushes to the roots of her hair. “That’s… Yeah…” she clears her throat and in the distance, someone screams in pain, loud and shrill.

 

The scream goes on for a very long time while the two women look at each other with uncertainty. The blush on Elsas’ high cheekbones deepens with each ticking second. “What can I do for you, Haiplana?” she finally manages to wheeze out.

 

It takes the mechanic a moment to gather her scattered thoughts, to remember why she came here in the first place, and push the severed human hand out of her mind. “I want to see the fox’s mate.”

 

Elsa shifts her weight from one foot to the other, nodding sharply. “Of course. I’ll make them bring her…”

 

“I want to see where she is.”

 

Elsa nods again. Or maybe it’s one of those weird ‘head-curtseys’ people sometimes do. “Of course, Haiplana.”

 

The dungeon mistress steps quickly towards a door, picks up a lone torch hanging from an iron claw in the wall, leading the mechanic into a dark corridor that serpents deeper into the mountain.

 

It’s cold and humid, their steps echoing unnervingly on the stones, the ceiling brushes the top of Elsa’s head and there’s an ongoing soundtrack of cracks, creaks, clinks and screams Raven tries very hard to ignore.

 

“How many people are in here?” the mechanic asks, trying to block the sounds and the creeping feeling that she really shouldn’t be down here.

 

“Around a hundred fifty.” Elsa smiles at Raven over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up. “The worst traitors and such are on the deepest levels. In this level, it's just a few dozen petty thieves and minor delinquents.”

 

A high-pitched scream makes Raven shudder. “You torture all of them?”

 

“Well, I do need to get new blood for my paintings.” Elsa smiles over her shoulder and Raven nearly walks into a wall.

 

“What?!”

 

The dungeon mistress stops, turning fully to look at her and something in the mechanic’s expression makes her go a few shades paler than she already is. “It was a joke! Gallows humor” she tries a laugh, but it sounds off. “I am sorry, Haiplana. I know it’s inappropriate!” she clears her throat. “I don’t… That would be… Slightly disgusting.”

 

Raven finds herself arching an eyebrow. “You have a severed hand on your desk.”

 

“It’s from a corpse!” Elsa’s eyes are round with horrified shock. “For a friend,” she explains, speaking quickly and nervously turning the torch in her hand over and over. “Her husband passed away, I’m painting it for her. So that she can keep it as a reminder.”

 

Raven shifts on her feet. “You do this often? Paint dead people’s hands?” They start walking again.

 

“Not as often as I would like.” Pause. Elsa probably notices she just put her foot in her mouth again, because she winces. “Which is good, means we’re not at war and our families are safe.” They round a corner. “But I enjoy painting. Wanted to live as an artist when I was a child.” She shakes her head as they enter a wider room with cells left and right. “Foolish children’s dreams. I ended up following my father’s path. It’s a good path.”

 

Raven says nothing, eyes wandering around the room. What she can see from the cells: they’re clean, are furnished with stainless-steel wash basins and flush toilets and lumpy mattresses on metal legs.

 

They walk to the very end of the huge room, the last inmate is separated from the others, all adjacent cells empty. Raven doesn’t see the person at first, mistaking the woman for a lump of dirty clothes between the sink and the bed. Elsa kicks the bars. “Dofo! Frikdreina!”

 

The woman doesn’t move and Elsa gives an exasperated sigh. “She’s very difficult.”

 

“I’ll go in, ” says Raven.

 

“Ai Haiplana...” the dungeon mistress licks her bottom lip. “Don’t let her appearance fool you. This is a dangerous criminal.”

 

“Is she armed?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Well, I am. And you are here. Lola will come in with me.” Raven smiles. “It will be fine. Open the cell.”

 

Elsa shifts again, but ultimately this is her queen giving a direct order and she has to obey.

 

The barred door opens with a metallic clank and in walks Raven. On the floor, the woman hasn’t moved.

 

Now that she’s closer the mechanic can see the bandana around the woman’s head and recognize the coat and scuffed boots. A pair of dark almond eyes stares unblinkingly at her. Lola sniffs at her, swishing her tail lazily.

 

“Hello.”

 

The eyes blink at Raven.

 

“Have they hurt you?”

 

Still nothing.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“We haven’t questioned her,” says Elsa from the corridor. “But you will get nothing but lies from that.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Raven might as well be talking to the wall.

 

“I don’t think she’s really capable of speaking, Haiplana” offers Elsa. “Frikdreina are not all there upstairs.”

 

“I hear you’re here because they want to flush out your partner?” Raven sits down, the movement awkward by the brace and the woman’s eyes flit down to the bad leg and back up, a slight crease appearing between her eyebrows.

 

“You’re Raven” whispers the woman so lowly the mechanic nearly doesn’t hear her.

 

She nods “Who are you?”

 

“John said you would come.”

 

“Who is John?” maybe coming here won’t be so much a way of getting answers as to be more confused.

 

The brown eyes flit to the door and back. “That doesn’t matter. You’re in grave danger. You have to go.”

 

It’s not really news, because Raven already knows someone wants her dead. “Why are you down here? Were you trying to warn me?”

 

The snort is so unexpected, it takes her a bit aback. “No. I am here, ‘cause I am the expendable frikdreina.”

 

“They want something from your partner. What is it?”

 

“Information only he can get.”

Raven rolls her tongue over her teeth. “What sort of information?”

 

“You need to go.”

 

“Answer me.”

 

The woman sits back, pressing her head against the wall, her eyes unblinking in a way that is eerily similar to Roan’s unnerving blank expression. She has a tattoo across her face, a raised scar on her cheek, a beautifully full mouth and a tiny dimple on her chin. She seems familiar, but Raven can’t place her.

 

“No.”

 

The mechanic feels like throttling her until she spills everything she knows. It takes all of her self-control to stay still, engaging in the staring contest with this familiar stranger.

 

“Why not?” she grumbles after what feels like half an eternity.

 

“I promised I would warn you. I’ve done that. Now leave.”

 

Raven crosses her arms stubbornly across her chest. “Why should I trust you? For all I know you could be trying to lure me out of the palace to kill me.”

The woman stares some more. And then flicks her wrist and produces a ring. Her ring. The one with the three bands and the tiny imperfection her nail usually snags in.

 

“Where did you get that?” whispers Raven, eyes fixed on the band.

 

“It was given to me. As prove of my loyalty to skaikru and the _Fayalida._ ”

 

By the cell door Elsa shifts, stepping closer. “Please, Haiplana, we need to go now.”

 

“ _Leave_.” Says the girl and vanishes the ring once more with the flick of her wrist.

 

Raven knows she will get nothing else out of the fox’s mate, even though she’s burning with questions and doesn’t understand what the hell is going on. This trip really was only a way of getting more confused.

 

She slips out of the cell and follows a very relieved looking Elsa back towards the surface.

 

***

 

Raven’s contemplating the radio, turning the fox’s mate’s words over and over in her head. What prove does she have that she would be safer with Skaikru than with Azgeda? What prove does she have that everything that girl said isn’t a rouse? The ring proves nothing and her cryptic answers or lack thereof are not precisely likely to turn the scales into trusting her.

 

The only thing she has is her gut telling her she’s missing the whole picture – again. There’s something she doesn’t know, something crucial to understanding her predicament.

 

The door to her study burst open nearly giving her a heart attack and in waltzes Matilde, looking royal and composed as ever. “Good afternoon, Haiplana.” She gives a disgusted look at the mechanic’s piles of metal and half built contraptions. “I have come to take you out of this…” her mouth twists “place,” she says it like the word tastes bitter. “Come. Today your sulking in here has ended. Let us dine together.”

 

Raven blinks at her. “I’ll wait for Roan.” she tries as a way of slipping out of the situation.

 

Matilde’s perfect eyebrows crawl up her brow like two well-trained dogs. Her words are slow when she speaks, like she’s addressing a very small child. “Roan won’t be coming back.”

 

Raven’s heart stops for a moment, her breath snagging in her throat; the world screeching to a halt.

 

She hates herself for it.

 

“He’s off to the hunt.” Continues Matilde dusting invisible flecks off her skirt.

 

“What hunt?”

 

“Didn’t he remind you? I thought for sure he would have told you again.” Matilde’s smile is sharp as a knife. “It is traditional for the king to provide the meat for the Solstice Celebration. He won’t be at the palace for the whole week.” She wanders closer. “Usually he takes off earlier, but _strenuous_ situations have held him off.”

 

Her hand is bony and hard on Raven’s shoulder, grabbing her a bit harder than necessary. When Lola growls and steps closer, the councilwoman kicks her out of the way. “ _Set raun, bis!”_

Lola winces and Raven wrenches herself out of her grasp. “Don’t touch her!”

 

“Animals need to know their place.” Matilde shrugs. “Now come eat with me.”

 

Raven presses her lips together, but after a moment she stands up and walks behind her out of the room and towards the dining room.

 

The silence is awkward until Matilde huffs, shaking her head. “Just ask whatever is troubling you, girl.” Raven stares at her, the fork halfway to her mouth. The viceroy scrunches her nose a little. “I know you have questions. Questions. Questions. Always with questions running around in that little head of yours. Come on. Out with it.”

 

The mechanic studies the other woman for a moment, wondering what to say and how to say it. Then her brain just decides: fuck it. And blurts out: “What does _Drop of Hainofi_ mean?”

 

Matilde sits back in her chair, a small smile playing around her lips. “You even managed to pronounce it correctly.”

  
“Answer the question.” She’s so not in the mood to be patronized by this woman.

 

The woman laughs, sticks a piece of meat in her mouth and chews it thoroughly for a moment.

 

“It means ‘lost princess’. It is a movement of traitors and deceivers who think that Roan is not the rightful king to this land. My sister, queen Nia, tried to eradicate them years ago, but as with all weeds, they keep reappearing.”

 

Raven arches an eyebrow when it looks like Matilde won’t continue explaining.

 

“Persistent little bug, aren’t you, _Fayalida_.” she chews for a moment longer before continuing. “My sister was married into the throne. Her late husband was King, as had been his father before him and his father’s mother before that. The king and Nia had two children: Hector and Roan. But the king had another child with his mistress. Of course my sister was livid when she found out. The mistress found herself quickly without a head and the king… Well he died _of grief_ shortly after.” She chews another bite throughfully “Terrible thing, _love._ Makes the greatest _hef_ blind.” She takes a sip of whine out of her goblet and smiles at Raven, all sharp and dangerous, like a snake in the grass, waiting for its moment to pounce.

 

“Did she kill him?”

 

“My, the things you say! Of course not! Nia wouldn’t stoop so low as to commit regicide.” She takes another sip of wine pointedly looking at her. “No. He died on his own. Alone and in pain, like the horny dog he was.”

 

Raven squirms under her intent gaze. “And the child?”

 

“Nia was merciful to her. She was taken care of and put to serve under her queen. Others wouldn’t have been so kind. But…” she sighs. It is obvious she loved her sister in the way she speaks of her and that, too, makes Raven uncomfortable. “When the girl hit her teens the rumors started. Dangerous little things, rumors. They can stroke fires in the hearts of the kru. A movement appeared saying the girl should be queen. She, and not the children of Nia, was the rightful heiress. My sister squashed the traitors ruthlessly. When that wasn’t enough she made the girl disappear.”

 

The words sink in slowly, Matilde continues with a wave of her hand. “Roan is too soft. Rumors have arisen once again. Strong as they were back when the bastard girl was but a scrawny teen. Now those who doubted Roan’s claim to the throne doubt it doubly so. With a foreigner sitting next to him.” Matilde’s stare is cold and unforgiving. “You’re putting my nephew in grave danger. And for what? What good are you to Azgeda and to him?”

 

“So what are you going to do about it?”

 

Matilde jerks back, turning to see Reynard standing by the wall, next to a wooden bureau, idly playing with an apple.

 

The viceroy scrunches her nose like she smells something awful. “Exactly what I have always done.” Jutting her chin out she watches as Reynard saunters around the table, plopping himself in the chair at the head of the table, where Roan usually sits. “My loyalty lies with my family, my king and my land.”

 

Reynard’s smile is toothy and dishonest. “Said like a true patriot.” He settles himself more comfortably scuttling it a bit closer to Raven’s so that he can throw an arm carelessly over the back of her chair.

 

“I’d like to know where yours lays.”

 

The redheaded man smiles, inclining his head, but says nothing.

 

Matilde’s eyes are ice-cold, narrow slits. “Shouldn’t you be on the hunt?” somehow she manages to keep her tone conversational. “Making sure our _haihefa_ is safe?”

 

He hums around a bite of apple. “That is why he keeps Echo around. I wouldn’t dream of doing her job.”

 

A delicate eyebrow crawls up on Matilde’s forehead. “And why does he keep you around, I wonder.”

 

“I am pretty.”

 

Matilde’s poisonous look wanders from him to Raven to the place where his hand rests near her shoulder. Raven feels like she’s been caught doing something terribly wrong. “The prettiest of hogs get their day.”

 

“Are you talking from experience?” and then he rests his head on Raven’s shoulder and smiles sharply at the viceroy.

 

Matilde is livid as she throws her napkin into her plate. “I have lost my appetite”, she growls.

 

“Don’t let the door kick you on your way out.”

 

The woman storms off leaving Raven and Reynard alone in the dining room.

 

He makes no move to distance himself from the mechanic, but rises his head from her shoulder to continue eating his apple.

 

“What is your problem?”

 

Reynard cooks his head the same way Lola sometimes does. “Was I too obvious?”

 

The mechanic gawks at him, trying to understand this person she doesn’t know all that much, but who seems to be in some way _close_ to her.

 

“She was telling me of the lost princess.”

 

Reynard shakes his head, the beads in his hair clicking together make a sound that sounds like laughter. “Don’t worry yourself with that! There’s nothing she can do to you. Not while you’re under Roan’s protection.”

 

Reynard winks at her and that is way less reassuring than anything he could have said. Raven shifts away from him and stands. “I’m tired.”

 

He stands up, his expression soft as he nods his head. “Good night, Raven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I am subtle *hit's you with a brick*
> 
> So Emori arrived then chapters late, because we can't have a tricksterless fic, now, can we? 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos, they do make my day so much brighter! And as always, thank you for reading


	11. Fight or flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for your support and comments, they brighten my day and make writing so much more fun!

Raven scratches the side of Einstein’s head while the stable boy fastens the saddle. It seems to be taking him forever, even though she knows he’s working as quickly as always, securing the harness and fastening all the tiny buckles and making sure it’s not too tight but not too loose either.

 

The mechanic looks over her shoulder. Everyone is working and other than the eventual sidelong look nobody pays her much attention.

 

Good.

 

Rufus is doing whatever he does when she’s holed up in her study and Roan isn’t even in the palace. She’s sat through another endless lesson with Dorian in which he was awful to her and stepped on Lola’s tail as many times as humanly possible, kicking her in the muzzles when she tried to bite him and ignoring Raven’s order to leave her alone in pretty much the same fashion his wife had done the night before. She’s gone through a fighting lesson with Björn- which was somewhat productive- taken a shower and a quick bite with Rufus before closing the door to her workshop. Her guard will come back to fetch her for dinner by that she hopes she’ll be halfway to Arkadia.

 

If this boy finishes saddling Einstein anytime soon, that is.

 

The stable boy unfastens the rope tethering Einstein to the wall and offers to help her onto the horse’s back.

 

Raven smiles and lets him hoist her up.

 

“Good ride, Haiplana”. The boy smiles at her, patting the horse’s neck. He has a toothy grin and sandy blond hair.

 

The mechanic’s heart beats hard against her ribs when Einstein walks out of the stables and into the grand cave that is the entrance to the Winter Palace. A few guards salute her. Nobody stops her, even though she isn’t supposed to leave the castle without an escort.

 

The wind is ice cold when Einstein steps out of the cave and she’s grateful for her fur-lined hooded coat. The sun shines high in the winter sky. Everything seems crisp and clear. There’s a fine sheen of ice and snow on the road, but Einstein’s steps are strong and sure.

 

Raven’s heart beats hard against her ribs and, if she weren’t wearing gloves, she’s pretty sure her knuckles would be white from how hard she’s clutching the reigns.

 

The need to escape has been nagging at her for some time now, but, ultimately, it was her conversation with Matilde the night before that has convinced her of the imminent danger. Raven’s been awake all night, tossing and turning, jumping awake and on high alert at the slightest of noises. She’s tired of waiting around for the other shoe to fall, will not sit primly around while others decide when and how they’re gonna kill her.

 

The mechanic’s all the way to the marketplace, just a few hundred meters away from the open doors that lead to the narrow pass and out of the palace’s grounds, when there’s a loud whine and the heavy beat of horse hooves on the pavement. A thin and lithe looking horse falls into step next to Einstein, on its back Reynard pulls his hood off, smiling impishly at her.

 

“Fine afternoon, haiplana!” he smiles all tooth and sharp angles. “Where are we headed?”

 

“Just out.” She bites out“Einstein needs to stretch his legs.”

 

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing her, but nods anyway. “Mind if I tag along?”

 

“Actually, I wanted to clear my head.”

 

He laughs, ignoring the hint. “I understand what you mean. It can be pretty oppressive in there.”

 

“Yeah. So… Why don’t you…?”

 

“I’ll act as your escort so that you don’t have to deal with a guard squad” he _winks_ at her. “ No need to thank me. I am nice like that.”

Raven arches an eyebrow at him, but Reynard just pulls his hood back on.

 

They cross the doors to the citadel together and trot down the narrow path to the plains surrounding the mountain. When Raven hurries Einstein into a gallop, Reynard just follows and when she loosens the reigns and the horse flies off into the forest, Reynard’s is just a few steps behind.

 

At Einstein’s feet, Lola runs with long beautiful steps that seem to lengthen her body into a red-ish streak. Slowly Raven’s brain starts to empty, until there’s only the motion of the horse beneath her; the not-quite-uncomfortable top pommel of her sidesaddle’s digging into the underside of her knee; the bite of the wind on her cheeks, the crunching of the snow beneath her and the blur of white and green all around.

 

It feels like she can just let go of the leather reigns and fly away. She’s free, her heart beating in time with the thump of the hooves, her wings beating in time with each light step.

 

It’s almost like zero-g, because in zero-g everything was black and endless and here there are trees in her way, and colors, the pull of gravity every time Einstein’s hooves land on the ground again and so much light.

 

The horse stops slowly, first into a shorter un-hurried gallop, then into a light trot and finally into a leisure walk. There are tears on Raven’s cheeks, but her heart still beats happy and strong against her ribs.

 

“You know” Reynard’s voice cuts into her silent mind like a knife, promptly bringing everything crashing back: the impending threat, the memory loss, the aching pain in the area of her heart she’d rather not analyze too closely “if you were trying to escape the palace and ride back to Arkadia, you really should have brought some provisions. It’s a long ride.”

 

Raven freezes, looking agape at the young man. Her right-hand travels slowly to her waist where she has tucked the electric baton she’s been keeping under her pillow for the last two days. Reynard offers her a knife-sharp smile.

 

“What? You can’t think you were being inconspicuous, right?”

 

He keeps his horse too far away for her to reach him with the baton, just guiding it slowly to stand in front Einstein. There’s no weapon in his hands, but by now Raven has learned that every az-person seems to be insanely dexterous in a fight.

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I am just out for a ride.”

 

He chuckles, shaking his hooded head. She can only see the slight glow of his eyes and the sharp edge of her smile. “Cut the crap, Raven.”

 

“So what if I want to leave?!” she growls straightening her spine. “I am the queen of Azgeda, not a prisoner! I can go where I please!”

 

“It is dangerous out here.” He rumbles, a flash of teeth in the shadows of his hood “Especially for the _queen of Azgeda_.” He imitates her voice with astounding accuracy.

 

Her grip tightens on the smooth handle of her electric baton. “Are you threatening me?” she snarls and Reynard seems taken aback. “Because I am not afraid of you!”

 

“Threatening you? I wouldn’t dare.” And there’s mocking in his tone, an edge that sends shivers down her spine and has all her instincts shouting to turn around and flee as quickly as possible.

 

Her gut isn’t usually wrong. When Reynard’s horse takes a step towards her, she yanks the reigns to the side, digs her heel into Einstein’s side. The horse jumps forward taking the man by surprise and she slashes the electric baton across Reynard’s side with as much force as she can manage as the horse sprints by his side.

 

Electricity crackles loudly and for a split second she can see his eyes widening, hear the pained “ugh!” and feel the electricity flowing from the baton into his body, see him convulse before pitching forward.

 

Raven doesn’t stop to see him fall. Her thumb flicks the off button and she leans into her horse’s neck to help him run faster.

 

For a minute there she feels like she might even pull it off.

 

Then she hears a loud twang and an arrow embeds itself into a tree trunk by her ear. Einstein whines.

 

“Fuck!”

 

It takes her a moment to see the horse chasing her: it’s black, decorated in white war-paint and the rider wears a dark green and gray cloak that makes it very difficult to distinguish between the shadows of the forest.

 

“Fuck!”

 

A second arrow flies by her head, clipping her on the bridge of the nose and she buries her face in Einstein’s neck, spurring the horse onward. The wind keeps pulling at her cloak, stinging her eyes and blurring the world around her.

 

Einstein stops so suddenly she nearly flies over his head and when she raises her head from his warm sweaty fur she sees they’ve been cornered, guided into a green canyon with tall rocky walls left and right.

 

The rider doesn’t come into view right away and when he does, it’s at a leisure pace, an arrow nocked into place. Raven’s grip on her electric baton tightens. There’s just one way out of this gorge and the rider is standing in it.

 

“Who sent you?”

 

If she’s going to die out here, she might as well get some answers.

 

The rider pulls the string of the bow taut back.

 

“Just tell me who send you.”

 

Something she doesn’t quite recognize flashes at a high speed behind the archer who looses the arrow. Raven has only time to pull Einstein’s reigns sharply to the side before the arrow pierces her shoulder.

 

Raven screams in pain.

 

The rider falls off his horse like a sack of rocks, the bone and leader handle of a knife sticking out of his nape.

 

Raven frowns at the body lying on the snow for a moment and then jerks her head up because there’s a very obvious rustling of leaves and out steps Reynard, leading his horse by the reigns. He gives the body a mighty kick with his booted foot before reclaiming his knife and cleaning it on the corpse’s cloak.

 

“I’ve got to say, Rae, I am very, very not ok with that new contraption of yours.” He grumbles without looking at her, just squatting down next to the body and turning it over, his hands quickly searching the dead man’s pockets. “That thing has a nasty bite.”

 

Raven can feel blood spluttering out of her wound. Her hand is going numb which might become a huge problem because it’s the hand clutching her electric baton and she needs the other to guide Einstein.

 

The man is inspecting the dead’s quiver with a lot more interest than – in Raven’s opinion - a handful of wooden arrows really warrants. He runs his fingernail over the smooth shaft in a somehow hypnotizing motion.

 

The mechanic frowns, trying to concentrate on something else, but with each passing heartbeat, her brain seems muddier and muddier. She can hear him muttering under his breath as he takes one of the arrows to his face to sniff and run his tongue lightly over it.

 

His head snaps up so suddenly, Raven nearly falls off her horse, accidentally yanking the reigns to the side. Einstein huffs with annoyance and shakes his head. His eyes flit quickly from Raven’s face to her pierced shoulder.

 

“You must be kidding me.” Reynard rubs his face with both hands before standing, slowly. “If I come closer will you put fire in my body again?”

 

Her thoughts come slow and muddied. It’s taking her a lot of focus to understand what he’s saying. The redheaded man seems to be waiting for something.

 

Or maybe it’s her? She casts her thoughts back to try and remember what’s the last thing she said. She… She asked a question.

 

Raven frowns.

 

The asshole! Why won’t he tell her whatever it was she was asking?

 

“I want answers.”

 

“And I want a break, haiplana. Looks like we don’t get what we want. Now let me check that wound!”

 

He has thrown the handful of arrows to the side, splattering them on the snow. It looks ominous, somehow. And the man lying facedown seems to be dead. There’s blood soaking the snow around him.

 

“Who was that?”

 

“Clearly an assassin.” The redhead takes a deep breath. “Raven” he tries more slowly. “The arrow” he points at her and when she turns her head she sees a stick poking out of her shoulder. The arm is completely numb. Huh. “The arrow is made of jobibark.” He says slowly. “I need to take it out.”

 

The cut on the bridge of her nose itches, but it’s nothing compared to the throbbing of the wound around the arrow shaft. ‘That part could go numb as well’, Raven thinks wistfully. Before remembering she had a question and this idiot will talk about arrows but not answer her.

 

“Who sent him?”

 

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He sighs like a long-suffering parent with a bratty unreasonable child. Raven doesn’t care for the tone. “Let me look at the wound, please.”

 

“Was it Roan?”

 

That must have been unexpected, because he stops dead in his tracks, looking at her with wide, perplexed eyes. “What?”

 

“Did Roan send him?”

 

Reynard blinks again. “What?”

 

“The assassin!” Oh, how she hates the way her voice hitches! “Is Roan trying to get rid of me?”

 

Reynard opens his mouth. Closes it again. “Are you completely mad?” He rubs his face with both hands and pulls on his braided hair mumbling under his breath something the mechanic doesn’t understand.

 

“I just want to know what is going on. I’m tired. I’m in pain. I don’t remember anything useful and I just want to go _home_!” By the end there are tears running down her face. Her left cheek feels sort of numb, she can kind of feel spit collecting in the corner of her mouth.

 

One of his thick eyebrows arches high on his brow, he tries to speak patiently, but she can see the way his eyes keep darting frightfully around her. He’s scared of her. Good. He should. “You just ran away from ‘home’. On your own, knowing very well someone is trying to kill you!”

 

“And for all I know it’s Roan!”

 

“Roan would rather cut his own hand than put you in harm's way!”

 

“You don’t know that.” The world is tilting slightly, graying around the edges, but she refuses to let this go. She will have her answers or so help her god, she’ll set all of Az-graun on fire!

 

“Actually, I do.” He’s suddenly standing by her side. Raven doesn’t even see the movement. It’s like a part cut out of a vid. First, he’s standing between the fallen body and Einstein and then he’s by her side. “I need to take that arrow out of your shoulder. Please, Rae.”

 

She follows his eyes to the wood poking out of her and frowns at it.

 

He’s trying to distract her because he doesn’t want to admit that she’s right. She remembers – sort of – being little and older boys pushing her around, giving her the cold shoulder, lying to her. Sometimes Sinclair would find her, huddled in a corner. Definitely _not crying_. He would tell her she shouldn’t listen to the older kids. They were jealous of her.

 

Well, she’s not a scared little kid anymore and she’s not about to let anyone lie to her.

 

“I heard him” she explains because she heard Roan in his study. She heard all that fucking conversation and knows.

 

“You tell me about it, while I look at your wound, all right?” he sounds sort of pleading. Raven is tired, and the distance from up her to the ground seems to grow exponentially with every passing second.

 

She hasn’t even finished nodding her head when a pair of hands land on her waist, lifting her off the sidesaddle. The big hands remind her of Roan. They feel safe and warm and she can’t find the strength to hate herself for thinking of him.

 

Reynard struggles a bit before he gets her off the horse, finding a bit of difficulty when her legs tangle in the hooked pommels but manages nonetheless. “Come on. Tell me. What did you hear?”

 

“He was in his study,” Reynard’s cloak smells like burning wood. It’s nice. “with Chris and Alex and someone I don’t know. They were talking about replacing me. And a fox finding something.”

 

Raven isn’t sure if Reynard is listening, but her mind is on spilling-mode and the half-painted images she’s been reconstructing from everything she’s learned over the past few weeks are right there, ready to burst out of her numb lips.

 

“I think… I think I was cheating on him” her voice is just above a whisper, slightly slurred, small and vulnerable, and the fading part of her that can still rationalize and _think_ hates every second of it, but cannot stop. “I think he found out and decided to get rid of me. Kill two birds with one stone: now he can marry a good az-woman.”

 

‘You’re a good ass-woman’ Roan would say when she was slightly too drunk and feeling insecure. The first few months of their marriage were hard, Raven remembers. She was constantly met with hostility and awkwardness because she kept forgetting this or that random ritual. Roan would pull her close when no one was looking and nuzzle her neck. He would make light of everything until she laughed, too, and sort of put it on the backburner or forgot about it for a while.

 

“Raven…” sighs Reynard. He’s doing something with the arrow. It hurts like hell, but she doesn’t complain. Her body and her mind seem separate. She knows she’s in pain, but it doesn’t really register as a priority. “Believe me. You have never cheated on Roan.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because I know you. And I know him. And even if you had… He wouldn’t just … He wouldn’t terrorize you like this.” He breaks off. By now his face has turned into a colorful collection of blotches. “There was no child between you two. If he had any doubts, Roan would’ve just broken the marriage. Sent you back to Arkadia. Drink this.”

 

“I wanted to kill Finn when I found out he had lied to me.” She whispers and she hasn’t told anyone this because Finn was killed before she could find it in herself to forgive him and it hurt so much, it felt like she had done it herself, that his death only happened because she wished it into happening. “I wanted to make him feel how I felt.”

 

“Drink.” He tips something against her teeth – Raven hears the slight click of it against them. It tastes awful and makes her cough, but Reynard holds her down until he’s satisfied she won’t spit it out.

 

“Why do you think you cheated on Roan?” the world is just a blur of color that moves randomly around her, she wants to close her eyes, but every time she does, she’s shaken and it hurts. “Did you remember anything new?”

 

“’S just something Matilda said.”

 

“She should mind her own business.”

 

Raven hums in agreement and is jolted back into wakefulness. “Don’t fall asleep, haiplana. Keeps speaking.”

 

The world moves at dizzying speeds and the solid form behind her, the one anchor that’s keeping her from flying off into the void, keeps shaking her, asking inane questions that seem increasingly baffling. Holding her head up seems like a herculean task, and her eyelids weight a ton and a half.

 

God, she’s so tired!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week I'll probably won't be able to make any updates, since I won't be anywhere near a computer for the whole week. So... Yeah, mini-hiatus before we enter the last few chapters and the inevitable death of highly beloved character Lukas. 
> 
> jeje, just kidding. Lukas will be fine. ^^
> 
> Anyway. Thank you so much for reading, commenting and kudoing. You guys make writing so much more fun! Don't doubt in messaging me either here in the comments, over in tumblr (@ghelikblack) or in twitter (@ghelik1890) ^^
> 
> have a nice easter everybody!


	12. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of her little excursion

Raven wakes a few times over the next sixty hours. Every time there’s someone sitting in the chair next to her bed. The first handful of times she opens her eyes, someone presses a cup against her lips for her to drink. The liquid is warm and tastes like wood and iron, it makes her mind go muddy and drags her back to sleep.

 

Then she wakes and no one offers her a cup to drink from. Raven blinks blearily around the room. Her body feels like it’s cocooned in clouds, the movement lagging a few seconds. Her fingertips feel numb and one of her shoulder hurts and itches.

 

She moves slowly, trying to coordinate her arms and legs. She hears the door opening softly and when she turns her head, there’s an elderly woman sitting on the bed. Her coarse hand touches Raven’s brow and neck.

 

“How are you feeling, haiplana?” Hilda, Raven remembers the healer that looked after her when she first arrived at the Winter Palace.

 

“Woozy” her voice comes husky and raspy like it hasn’t been used in a long time.

 

“That would be the broth, to help you sleep. I need you to sit up for me, haiplana. Can you manage that?”

 

With Hilda’s assistance, Raven manages to sit up, leaning mostly on the healer. The woman looks at her shoulder and into her eyes, touching her with sure strong fingers. “Can you move your hand?” asks the healer, when she’s finally satisfied with the exam.

 

“Yes.”

 

It hurts and she can only twitch her fingers, but Hilda seems to think it’s enough. “You gave us a scare, haiplana. But it looks like you will make a full recovery. You were lucky we could treat the wound before the poisoning was irreversible.”

 

The healer gives Raven a warm beverage for the pain and then leaves her with Rufus, sitting sullenly in his chair. The silence between both of them is sullen and tense. Raven tries to distract herself reading her stupid copy of ‘ _Du nan frag en räv op’_ but she can’t stop feeling Rufus’ eyes stuck to the side of her face.

 

After what feels ages she turns to him. “Can you leave?”

 

“No.” he answers, face grave like she’s never seen before and eyes hard.

  
She sighs. “I am not going anywhere.”

 

“Your word has very little meaning when you have already lied to me.”

 

The earnestness in his voice takes her a little aback. She remembers how bad he felt for not protecting her after she was attacked the first time, believing he had somehow failed his duties and his queen.

 

“I didn’t lie to you.”

 

“If what you wanted was to leave the Winter Palace you should have only commanded it and I would have gladly escorted you to Arkadia. You put your life needlessly in danger.”

 

The mechanic feels her temper flaring. “That’s right. _My_ life. Not yours.”

 

Rufus regards her with a stern look.

 

“Tell me, haiplana. What do you think the king would’ve done to me and my family if he came back to discover you had just vanished without a trace; if, the Spirits forbid, you had been found dead in the forest?”

 

“I am responsible for my own life.” Her words would have more force behind them if she weren’t propped against half a mountain of pillows and her voice didn’t drag so much. “No one else. I don’t need anyone mothering me.”

 

“The dead can’t protect anyone. But their actions still carry consequences.”

 

“I am not dead.”

 

His smirk is devoid of any humor. “Now you can enjoy your consequences. I’ll watch you, as my duty commands, until the Haihefa comes back.”

 

Raven huffs and tries to concentrate on her book, but it’s no use. At some point, she falls into a fitful sleep. When she wakes back up she’s lying on her side and Rufus has had the decency to put his chair on the other side of the bed so that she doesn’t need to look at him. On the other hand, she’s now staring at the empty side of her bed and Roan’s nightstand.

 

It looks strange with no book lying on top of it. There should be a small clay bowl where he puts his rings and bracelets before sleeping. Raven used to make fun of him for it. But she liked the bowl: carefully molded like a shell decorated with pictures in hair-thin lines. The empty spot where the chair was, nags at her like the spot on the nightstand where the bowl was. The chair used to be buried under piles of clothes. _Her_ clothes, because Roan is an extremely neat person, always putting his knives and every last piece of random jewelry he likes to wave in his hair in its proper place.

 

Raven likes her mess, has always liked it and loves to test how much she can expand herself, how much space she can take up. On the Ark she knew exactly where her limits were, exactly how much space she could take over. She remembers walls made out of wood and metal walls crackling with electricity. She remembers walls of concrete, rooms and spaces for everyone because there wasn’t enough for everyone. Murphys room were the kitchens and hers were the labs.

 

But here, in Azgeda, she had domain over the whole of her quarters. She could leave something anywhere and she knew it wouldn’t be moved. It wasn’t only her shoebox of a room and her workshop anymore. She had lost stuff in Roan’s quarters before he moved into hers…

 

Raven sits up suddenly wide-awake.

 

“Are you alright?” Rufus appears next to her. “Do you need me to call Hilda?”

 

The mechanic shakes her head no. “It’s just… I remembered something.”

 

Rufus’ face splits into a wide grin, his sourness and anger momentarily forgotten. “That is great news” What did you remember?”

 

“Roan used to sleep here.” The guard’s face makes something complicated.

 

“Well… Yes… He _is_ your husband…” he says like it was obvious, but if so, why didn’t Roan _say so_ when she came back? She hadn’t meant to kick him out of his room. “Don’t skaikru partners live together?”

 

Raven frowns. Do they? She knows her mother and her father didn’t live together, but she doesn’t remember her father, so that is not very significant. Finn’s parents lived together, but she remembers meeting Murphy when he was eleven or twelve years old and his father wasn’t in the picture either. So, maybe Finn was the exception? Maybe that’s why Raven wasn’t enough for him?

 

“I don’t think so.” She answers slowly.

 

“I can’t really understand how that sort of arrangement works” hums Rufus. “It sounds very lonely.”

 

“I guess we’re used to it” mumbles the mechanic. But that doesn’t seem right. Because if she comes from people that are used to dealing with life on their own why _does_ she feel lonely? Why – even though she’s loath to admit it – does she want Roan back?

 

Raven remembers feeling lonely before, lots of times, even though they’re all disconnected images in her brain.

 

She leans back against her cushions, picking up her book once again.

 

In her classes with Dorian she has already moved on to other stuff, but she likes the book with the stupid fox and the stupid farmers, even though she doesn’t really see the point of the message.

 

Raven doesn’t notice she’s closed her eyes until she opens them to find a small room with metallic walls. The low vibrating hum rattling against her core makes her release a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding. She’s sitting on her narrow bed because the chair at her desk has been taken over by machine parts. It’s late, Roan should be back by now.

 

The mechanic keeps telling herself it doesn’t really matter that he’s late. The knock on the door is so quiet she nearly misses it. The door swishes open and in steps Roan, his hair falling around his shoulders. It’s getting too long.

 

“Reshop ai meizen skaifaya” he looks dead on his feet.

 

“Long day?”

 

Roan grunts and drags himself over to the bed, promptly plopping on it, resting his head on her lap. Raven can’t help a small smile, leaving her machine on the scrap-pile doubling as a nightstand, she buries her hand in his hair, running her nails over his scalp. Roan purrs, leaning into the ministrations.

 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

 

He turns his head so that he can nose the inside of her thigh, nuzzling against the soft skin exposed by the boy-shorts she sleeps in. “The council wants a marriage to seal the az-skai alliance.”

 

Raven feels the bottom of her stomach vanishing, her hand freezes in his hair. She sees it, clear as day, Roan and Clarke standing side-by-side doing the ceremony in front of The Tree. It doesn’t matter that The Tree is planted somewhere in the forest near Arkadia or that the ceremony wouldn’t be executed by the Treekeeper, old Mrs. Kane.

 

Roan’s stubble against her exposed skin breaks the image like a soap bubble exploding. She has to think objectively about all this because they both knew he might need to marry someone in skaikru to settle the alliance. There have been so many marriages between trikru and skaikru over the past five years that the two krus have become practically one. Azgeda has little leverage.

 

They both knew the time in the bunker, waiting for the worst of Praim Faya to pass, was only a small pause in the ongoing wars and clan disputes. Once the bunker doors open Roan will lead his people back north and if they want peace to continue, he’ll take a queen with him. That is the reason they’ve kept _this_ a secret for so long.

 

Realizing that their time has come to an end still sucks. That it is Clarke who – again – takes away the man she loves, more so. “We knew it was going to happen”, she manages to croak. “Have you proposed to Clarke?”

 

He snorts, she pulls on one of his tiny braids in retaliation. When Roan looks up his eyes are nearly gray in the fluorescent light. He’s lost a lot of the color he had when they first sealed the bunker, his hair and beard standing in great contrast against his pale skin. Hers looks nearly gray in comparison. “I’m not marrying a woman who’s already married.”

 

“Clarke’s not….”

 

“Come on, Rae. They might not have gone through the fire and water together, but they don’t really need to.”

 

Raven frowns. Roan’s being too smug about all this. “What are you saying exactly?”

 

“Well, it took me a while to convince everyone and I’d still need to pitch the idea to _your_ council. I shudder only thinking about _that_ mess. But I would take a bride that came willingly. Someone whom I know and that knows me.” He pulls something from one of the inside pockets of his light cloak and pushes it against her wrist.

 

The packet is nearly as long as her forearm, hard and wrapped in an old, greasy rag.

 

“Like who?”

 

His eyebrows raise and when she realizes what he’s implying she nearly drops the package on his brow. “You mean me?”

 

“If you’d have me.” He doesn’t smirk, eyes extremely earnest and for a moment she can only blink at him.

 

“How did you manage to convince the Ass-council to accept the idea?”

 

He rolls around so that he’s laying on his belly, propped up by his forearms between her knees. “They saw that the Fayalida kom Skaikru is as good a match as any other war-lady. Nearly royalty,” he drops a kiss on her knee. “With a brilliant mind.” Another kiss a little bit higher. Raven clutches the packet. “Loyal.” He kisses the middle of her thigh, right where her shorts begin. “With integrity. Brave enough to stand up to the Commander.” He reaches the juncture of her thigh. “Honorable.” Raven falls back against the hard headboard.

 

“What about my leg?” the mechanic tries to sound defiant, but her voice comes out nearly breathless. His huge hand caresses the bad leg nearly reverently.

 

“Who doesn’t have a war injury?” She swallows the urge to squirm. “Raven. If you want me as your husband, just say the word. No one will stand to oppose us.”

 

She nods her head, yes and the smile that splits his face transforms all his sharp edges, crinkling the corners of his eyes and sending thrills down her spine. She pushes up to kiss him and it’s sloppy and messy because they’re both grinning too much.

 

He taps the package trapped between them both. “What is that?”

 

“It’s a gift, for you.”

 

The greasy rag belongs to her - it had disappeared a few days ago from her workshop - inside is a beautiful knife. The sheath is soft leather decorated with tiny filigrees. The bone and leather handle fits perfectly in her hand. The blade is sharp and wicked looking.

 

“It’s made out of one of my blades. It will serve you well.”

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

“So are you.”

 

Raven laughs in his face. “That was cheesy even for you!”

 

Roan has the good sense to put the knife on top the scrap pile. “Cheesy, huh?” The gleam in his eyes is all the warning she gets before he decides to attack her, tickling her until she’s writhing beneath him, trying to kick him off her.

 

They’re both panting when he finally relents. Roan’s pupils are blown so that the blue in them is but a thin band around the black. She can feel his hardon against her hip and arches into him, dragging him down for a messy and urgent kiss.

 

“You, my lady,” he mumbles against her lips “are wearing too many clothes.”

 

To which she can only chuckle, because her shirt is nearly see-through, it’s so worn and her shorts have a tear down the left side that she keeps forgetting to mend, which means the thing stays in place only thanks to an over-stretched elastic band and a lot of faith.

 

Him, on the other side, still wears his boots, complicated trousers coat and tunic. Most of the trikru people started using the clothing supplies found in the bunker a year and a half into their five-year-long forced stay inside said bunker. Azgeda, on the other hand, refused to let go of their leathers and multiple layers, even though the controlled temperature didn’t warrant more than a shirt.

 

Stubborn, pig-headed people.

 

Raven arches into the hand of her favorite pig-headed man when it finds it’s way into her pants and strokes her, slow and feather-light. “Don’t rip my shirt, it’s the only sleeping shirt I have right now.”

 

Roan grumbles something she doesn’t understand in trigedasleng and starts pulling her pants down when she pulls the shirt over her head. He drinks her in, licking his lips like he’s seen his favorite treat. He brands a trail of kisses from her clavicle to her navel, nuzzling it with his long, straight nose before continuing south.

 

Raven’s left leg falls over the side of the bed, the heel thumping against the floor when he licks a stripe against her sex. She wiggles a little bit to accommodate her hip while he watches her with his hungry, hungry eyes, one hand resting lazily on her tummy, the other caressing her left thigh. “All right?”

Raven takes a few gulping breaths. The hip doesn’t bother her in this position, and the view is beautiful from here. She hooks her right leg over his shoulder. The leather on his back is only slightly coarse against her bare skin, the tiny buckle near his throat digs a little into her calf, but it’s not uncomfortable.

 

“Perfect.” She breathes and the way his body shakes when she runs the sole of her foot down his spine has her smirking. “You gonna stay there all night?”

 

He bends his head, inspecting her in a way that used to make her uncomfortable, especially when he was still completely dressed. Now she feels oddly cherished. Like he can’t see any of her flaws even though she’s bared and on display.

 

He licks into her.

 

Raven hasn’t had that many lovers in her life. Finn and her discovered intimacy with each other and they hadn’t been that adventurous, to begin with. Their relationship had been predictable and sweet. A safe haven where she could escape from her mother’s abuse and the fact that her world was not that great, to begin with.

 

Wick had been infuriating and demanding. He would never have gone down on her. Hadn’t expected her to go down on him, either, which, at the time, was ok, because she hadn’t even imagined that two people could get so much pleasure like this. True that the handful of times they did fall in bed together, it had been to get rid of the excess of adrenaline, so it was usually rushed and dirty.

 

Roan was playful and enjoyed exploring. It had bothered her a little that he knew so much more than her, but Raven was nothing if not learning-oriented. During the first weeks, they somehow kept finding each other in random corners, fucking like teens. She couldn’t get enough of him, because, for the first time in her life, sex was not a means to an end.

 

Until then she had regarded it like she would a wrench in her toolbox. Now, though. Now it was more like space-walking. Not a tool but a thrill: exciting, fun and so bloody addictive!

 

Roan slips a second finger into her while relentlessly working on her clit. His free hand is still kneading on her hip and Raven’s fingers claw at the worn bed sheets, her back arching off the bed when he adds another finger, his thumb finding her clit when he raises his head to look at her, blue eyes shining in the harsh white light of the room.

 

Her brain feels fuzzy, it’s like nothing exists apart from him and her and this moment, her muscles coiling tightly, ready to snap. Raven curls her toes on his back when he twists his wrist just right and his names falls from her lips in a quiet whisper that sounds disturbingly like a prayer.

 

“Ai hod you in.” he whispers against her hip and the tension snaps like a twig, her back bowing off the bed until she’s nearly sitting up, eyes rolling back into her head and his name still on her lips.

 

Raven crashes back, blinking blearily at the sudden light flooding her room. It takes her a moment, but when she notices where she is, her heart seems to break a little.

 

The room is quiet, too big and too empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... That happened. 
> 
> I am sorry for the long wait and how mighty little happened in this episode. Hope the sex scene wasn't too awkward, I am really not familiar with writing that sort of thing (and I have fanfic to thank for what little I know). 
> 
> Next chapter should be less contemplative and more action based, but I promise nothing and nothing is promised by me.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting. :)


	13. A Room full of possibilities

Since she cannot tinker with her broken shoulder, Raven is left with very little to do other than explore and learn trigedasleng. Rufus is a constant shadow a few steps behind her, smothering her, Dorian revels in her new disability, his jokes and snide comments doubling with each passing day that Roan fails to come back to the Winter Palace.

 

That and the fact that the whole staff seems to be in a constant state of franticness over the impending arrival of the Winter Solstice Festival has Raven raw and short-tempered. She keeps getting stupid flashbacks, remembering in the most inappropriate of situations stuff that has nothing to do with whatever she’s doing. The images are a sudden burst of color that leave her a little disoriented, which is the only reason she stops dead in her tracks while walking down the hall from her room to her workshop.

 

Raven frowns, looking at the wall and the ajar door in it.

 

She has walked past this door half a thousand times without noticing it. It’s always closed and she hadn’t thought twice about it until now because from where she’s standing in the corridor, she can see the side of a plush animal sitting atop a chest of drawers.

 

Raven pushes the door open and her heart stops with a gasp.

 

The maid inside the room jerks up from where she was crouching, her eyes round with shock and cheeks pale.

 

“Haiplana!”

 

But the mechanic can’t answer, her heart hammering hard against her ribs like it wants to break free, she feels a tug in her lower belly, tears filling her eyes.

“What is all this?” her voice comes out hard and angry.

 

“I am sorry, Haiplana. Haihefa ordered the room to remain closed after your return. I thought I had closed the door, but the latch doesn’t work properly and it keeps getting stuck. I wanted Ben to come and look at it, but he hasn’t had time to…”

 

“Roan ordered the room to remain closed?”

 

The maid shifts looking anywhere but at Raven. “I am not supposed to say…” The mechanic arches an eyebrow at her until she lowers her head and speaks to the tips of her worn shoes. “We prepared it during the summer in preparation for the Royal Heir. Haihefa wanted to surprise you with it. After you came back wounded, Haihefa ordered the room to remain closed. I am sorry; we come once a week to clean, to make sure there are no critters…”

 

Raven nods her head, she turns slightly to Rufus’ shadow, looming closely behind her. “Can you leave me alone for a moment?”

 

“Of course, Haiplana.” To the girl, he says “Gerid?” The maid curtsies and rushes out, leaving Raven to run the pads off her fingers over the worn plush toy on the chest of drawers. It’s fashioned after a wolf with gray and white fur. She’s trying not to look at the window or the crib standing next to it, but it’s like there’s a magnet there and she can’t stop turning towards it.

 

The inside is lined with soft, buttery furs. There’s a cute little rabbit –so worn it has a hole on its paw, one of it ears has been replaced - sitting by the head of the little bed. The wall is lined with shelves sparsely filled with random wooden soldiers, dolls, cubes and big chunky cardboard books. Next to the chest of drawers is a basket with wooden swords and shields. And a box with wooden wrenches and screwdrivers and other tools like the ones she prefers.

 

Those are the only toys that look new and she has to sit down on the rocking chair next to the crib.

 

This… This is where her baby would’ve grown up. These are the books she would have read them to sleep, these are the toys they would’ve played with. And maybe they would have been a warrior, maybe they would be a mechanic, maybe they would have been small or tall or shy or cheeky or boastful. Maybe they would have had light eyes and dark skin or maybe they would have loved snow, maybe they would have been afraid of highs or of the dark. Maybe they would have been great riders.

 

And sitting in this room it drives the nail home. She was going to have a baby. This was going to be their room. Now she’s not and it won’t and it breaks her heart.

 

“I thought Roan would have made them tear this shit apart.”

 

Raven’s head jerks up. Standing by the door is Matilde, her perfectly composed expression souring slightly as she looks about the room in disgust. “What do you want?” growls the mechanic. She wants this woman out of here.

 

Matilde shouldn’t be anywhere near this room. Her presence feels fundamentally wrong, like an insult to everything that this place actually mean: the fact that Roan put it together as a surprise for _her_ , the fact that there’s no one to occupy it.

 

Completely missing the point, Matilde walks deeper into the room. She swipes a finger over the top of the drawers, pushes the wolf plushy a bit to the side; inspects the books on the shelves. Picks the wooden wrench out of its wooden toolbox. “There’s no point in dwelling on the past” the councilwoman says matter-of-factly. “That is something my sister understood.”

 

“And look where that got her.”

 

Matilde snorts, a sharp unhappy laugh. “My sister had many faults. Weakness was not one of them. Azgeda’s people knew it. Now they look at their king and laugh.”

 

“And I guess that’s my fault.”

 

“Don’t give yourself so much credit, haiplana” there’s a spark in Matilde’s clear eyes that Raven doesn’t understand. The left corner of the councilwoman’s mouth tugs up like she knows a secret. The mechanic’s getting used to the feeling of being left out, and the frustration that accompanies it. She feels like there was a time where she knew how to read this woman. “My nephew was always spoiled and weak.” She shakes her head. “But, Hector was a traitor and a weak king is what we must live with.”

 

“A pity you don’t have children of your own to challenge him then.”

 

Matilde’s stare is icy cold. “That is the difference between you and me, haiplana. I know when to step back.”

 

Raven arches a sardonic brow.

 

“You don’t believe me because you’re a self-centered child.”

 

“I don’t believe you because you have done nothing but threaten and insult me since I came here.”

 

“As I said: self-centered and childish. What do you know of the weight of the crown?”

 

Raven bites back the insult resting on the tip of her tongue, deciding to just remove herself from the conversation completely.

 

Not such luck. Matilde steps out of the room with her and keeps walking beside her down the hall.

 

“I know you don’t believe me, Haiplana, but I don’t actually hate you. I think you are a remarkable woman despite your unfortunate circumstances.”

 

Raven decides to make a mental list of all the reasons why she can’t kill this woman and turns to look at her. “ _My unfortunate circumstances.”_ She doesn’t quite manage to make her voice light and teasing. Her bad.

 

“Well, you can’t deny you are no match to a king.”

 

“I would’ve said a king is no match for me.”

 

Matilde laughs shaking her head. “You are a delight. But, you must understand.”

 

“I don’t, actually. Yeah, I wasn’t born in your _super awesome_ clan, but…”

 

“It is not only that you weren’t born to Azgeda. Sometimes there is no way around a mixed marriage. But it’s the fact that your station is so much lower than Roan’s. What were you on your tribe? Roan may have managed to fool more than one saying you were a war-chief. But we spent a lot of time cooked up in a small confined space and skaikru can’t hold their alcohol that well.”

 

Raven doesn’t really remember what she did before coming down to earth. Roan said she had been a g-mechanic. What is so bad about that?

 

“So I had to work and got shit done. What about it?”

 

Matilde looks at her with actual pity. “Bad blood carries over into children, Raven. That is why we don’t allow it to spread.”

 

The mechanic straightens her back. She’s nowhere near tall enough to be intimidating to this woman, but she throws her shoulders back and fixes her with a cold stare anyway “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“I don’t suppose you remember now about your family. But your mother…”

 

“What do _you_ know about my mother.”

 

“As I said, your people can’t hold their liquor. They talk. They over-share if you ask me. And stories about your mother’s selfishness and neglectfulness… Well …”

 

“Whatever my mother did or didn’t do has nothing to do with me.”

 

“It has everything to do with you, young haiplana. One's upbringing marks one's character. And one's blood…”

 

“I am nothing like my mother!” it takes her all her self-control not to punch Matilde in the face. “And anyway, Roan married me five years ago.”

 

“I am aware. I have spent five years trying to make the king see reason. But to no avail.”

 

“I wonder if stubbornness is in his blood” deadpans Raven. Matilde’s smile is all sharp edges.

 

“It is. And I have come to accept he will not be changing his mind anytime soon. His mind is too clouded with… _feelings_.” She spits the word out like it has personally offended her.

 

“Unlike me.” Raven thinks it over for a minute. “So, you think, since I don’t have any memory of my relationship with Roan, I’ll just up and abandon him?”

 

“Why stay, though? Here your life is constantly in danger, you’re far away from your home and friends. All for what?”

 

Raven opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by a loud commotion. The councilwoman and her walk quickly to the only window in the corridor that opens towards the huge square. From up here, it looks like a gigantic noisy black beetle is weaving its way through a crowd.

 

It’s not an oversized insect. It’s a jeep, a badly wounded jeep by the sound of it. Raven takes off instantly to go find her toolbox and slap whoever is responsible for its state over the head with a large wrench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, on the one hand a lot of feels, on the other... Skaikru, apparently has sent someone over. Wonder who that will be....
> 
> Anyway. Thanks as always so much for reading and commenting, you guys are the best :D  
> If anyone is interested in chatting or sharing their thoughts, you can find me in Tumblr and Twitter ^^


	14. A room full of foxes

Raven gets to the palace’s main gates in time to see the jeep shudder to a halt with a pitiful sigh. She rushes out to get to the big black vehicle as two people one fair, one dark hop down.

 

“What have you done to my jeep, Blake!” she barks without noticing and the dark, grim man, smiles at her and throws his arms around her in a hug she tries to wiggle out of, but secretly enjoys. He smells like leather, wet forest, and gunpowder.

 

Sinclair did give the best hugs, but his are nearly as good. She still swats his arms away when he steps back. “Nice seeing you, too, Reyes.”

 

“Of course it is.”

 

The fair woman steps closer to them, her hair braided back and a nice smile on her sun-kissed skin, the name comes automatically to mind. “Clarke.”

 

Clarke embraces her, too, pressing her close to her for an inordinate amount of time.

 

“What are you guys doing here?” she asks. Automatically Bellamy’s expression changes, darkening, his brow knitting close together and a frown deepening the creases around his mouth.

 

“You never called back.”

 

“Your last communication wasn’t very reassuring.” Continues Clarke in a more measured, less accusing voice. Bellamy’s eyes are fixed on the bandages peeking around the collar of her shirt and jacket.

 

“So you decided to come over here on a broken jeep.”

 

“To be fair it wasn’t broken when we left Arkadia” says the blonde, a mischievous smirk on her face.

 

“Not this again, Clarke! You didn’t see it either!”

 

“See what exactly?”

 

“We might or might not have driven it right into a frozen river.”

 

There are reasons, Raven guesses, not to beat them with her toolbox, but it takes an enormous amount of self-restraint not to do so anyway. She pats the vehicle’s hood. Just like so many things in her study, the metal feels familiar. She knows exactly what she has to touch to open it up and make it tell her all its secrets.

 

“You poor thing,” she finds herself cooing to the jeep. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you up and running in no time.”

 

Clarke and Bellamy exchange what might have been a guilty look. “But first” the blonde takes Raven by the shoulders, pulling her away from the machine “why don’t you show us where we can leave our bags?” ‘ _And tell us everything_ ’ goes unsaid but is heavily implied.

 

They end up in Raven’s antechamber, sitting on the exceptionally comfortable sofas tastefully strewn around the room: Clarke on an armchair next to Raven’s favorite spot, Bellamy across from the mechanic. Lola has abandoned all pretense of protectiveness and is currently laying on her back across Bellamy’s knees, head lolling back with a happy smile while the skaikru man gives her a belly rub. Whenever he tries putting his hand away, she guides it back against her ribcage with her forepaws.

 

Raven tells them everything: what little she’s managed to remember; the man Echo found; the false ring; the conversation with the fox’s mate; Reynard’s random flirting and Matilde’s not-so-veiled threats. And the last words Roan said to her before leaving for the hunt.

 

She tumbles over them and Bellamy’s expression turns murderous. Clarke stares at the mechanic, mouth hanging open and skin a few shades paler. “He did not!” she exclaims, eyes round.

 

“Yeah.” Raven nods her head, she feels lighter somehow, like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. “Anyway. After speaking with the fox’s mate I tried to flee and then was attacked. Reynard saved me even though I tased his ass. I got an arrow through the shoulder.”

 

“Don’t worry.” Clarke leans over and takes Raven’s hand in hers. “You’re not alone anymore.”

 

“Just say the word, Raven, and I’ll make you a widow.” Bellamy’s expression is so earnest the mechanic has to smile.

 

“I just want to know what’s going on. Who can I trust? Roan commands a lot of respect and it doesn’t make sense for him to try and off me when he knew I was pregnant and then accuse me of not giving him an heir.”

 

“Did he know?” Bellamy rubs between Lola’s ears and she gives a content sigh.

 

“Yes, I…” the mechanic clears her throat. “I found the room he had the staff prepare for the baby.”

 

“When has that guy ever made any sense?” muses the dark-haired man and Clarke rolls her eyes at him.

 

They exchange one of those looks that are actual conversations. Raven wants to throw a pillow at their heads. But she isn’t pety, so instead, she sulks, trying to decide what she’s going to do now.

 

“He should be back in two days time,” says Clarke with a pointed look in Bellamy’s direction. “In the meantime, we can investigate.”

 

“Or” offers Bellamy, “we could just repair the rover and head back to Arkadia before we get snowed in and stuck here for at least two weeks.”

 

Clarke sends an unimpressed stare his way and Raven is sure they’ve had this conversation over and over on the trip from Arkadia to the Winter Palace. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

 

“It’s not worth the risk”, he growls and the way Clarke flinches makes the mechanic think that those words have not been randomly picked. That sentence has history between these two.

 

“These are our allies. _Roan_ made the alliance with us. If someone is threatening his position as king, that threatens our alliance.”

 

“The more reason not to be here when the shit hits the fan.”

 

Clarke purses her lips. “Say it’s a coup. They kill him and then decide to fuck our treaty and declare war on us. By then they will have had the whole winter to prepare for war and we wouldn’t be the wiser. We would be sitting ducks.”

 

Bellamy’s jaw works. “Say it is not a coup. Say he just wants to wiggle out of the marriage contract. He would come home to have his wife killed, _and_ Wanheda” Clarke stiffens further, pressing her lips into a white angry line “already here to be used as a hostage.”

 

 

 

“I _trust_ Roan.” Growls Clarke through gritted teeth.

 

On Bellamy’s lap Lola turns around, ears pushed forward and eyes intent on Clarke, the fur at her neck standing slowly on end. “Well, I don’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Bellamy turns to Raven but Clarke answers before he has a chance to: “He’s holding on to a grudge he already settled. You remember? When you shot him?”

 

“Roan has betrayed us many times. Including that time we already had an alliance and he went and tried to have my sister killed and send an army to Arkadia. Remember that, Clarke?”

 

“It was over ten years ago, why can’t you let it go?”

 

This, too, looks like a conversation they’ve had many times before. “I don’t trust someone whose primary response is to declare war on their allies.”

 

Clarke arches an unimpressed brow at him and Raven can already see this is getting them nowhere.

 

“Ok, why don’t I start working on the rover and you two try and find out what the hell is going on? That way we’ll be able to high-tail it out of here. Neither seems very happy with it but they agree. Clarke deciding to go investigate around the palace while Bellamy plays bodyguard.

 

They walk in silence down the stairs and to the stables where the stable boys have dragged the rover, which is now incongruously sitting inside a big pen. Bellamy doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with pointless palaver, which leaves them sitting in silence: her on her back beneath the vehicle, him a silent lookout, while Lola entertains herself running after rats.

 

“Roan thinks you and Clarke are _a thing_ ,” she says at some point, mostly because she can practically hear Bellamy brooding. She can’t see him, but she can hear him sputtering alright.

 

“What?!”

 

“I don’t know. I mean, you bicker like an old married couple, but…”

 

“Clarke and I are not _a thing_.”

 

Raven scowls up at the bottom of the motor. There’s a tear she’ll need to weld, but other than that she thinks the rover is ok.

 

“I mean we did marry that one time during a grounder harvest festival.” He muses and Raven drops her wrench on her head.

 

“How is that _not_ being a thing?”

 

“It happened only once.” He chuckles. “We were both drunk out of our minds.”

 

“How often do you need to marry? Or do you mean you only like fucked once?”

 

he kicks her good foot “What do you care anyway? Are you in on the bet with the delinquents?”

 

That sentence raises far more questions than it answers. “I could be,” she says slowly.

 

Bellamy sighs and pulls her out from beneath the rover by her good foot. “Clarke and I have been married for three years. But we’re keeping it quiet, ok?”

 

“Why?”

 

“She gets kidnapped. A lot. Used as a bargainchip. They try to kill her at least once a month.”

 

“Sounds to me like you should up your security.”

 

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Clarke can take care of herself. Most of the time they don’t manage to get out of our territory. But it’s still dangerous.”

 

“Roan was one of those who kidnapped Clarke. That’s why you don’t trust him.”

 

“That was over ten years ago. I just never grew to like the guy. Unlike Clarke or you, for that matter.” He shakes his head. “Never mind. If anyone can find out what’s going on here it’s her. And no matter what we will keep you safe. That’s more important than any treaty.”

 

The mechanic has to swallow the lump in her throat. “Now, come on, I need to fetch a soldering iron to repair the damage you’ve done to my rover.”

 

“So it’s _your_ rover now, huh?”

 

“Damn right it is.”

 

They’re on the second floor, reaching the next flight of stairs when she hears the screams coming from one of the many closed doors along the corridor to their left: a young man’s voice repeating “you can’t do this! I demand to talk with the king!”

 

Raven and Bellamy exchange a look before starting towards the noise. The mechanic pushes the door open just in time to see a soldier slamming his knee into the stomach of a battered and bloody man.

It takes Raven a moment to recognize the Council Room since she hasn’t been here in a while. There are four of Roan’s councilmembers sitting all regal and poised on their high-backed seats with Matilde comfortably seated in the middle throne, on _Roan’s_ seat.

 

“What’s going on here?” and Rave’s voice whips around the room bringing the attention of everyone, including the battered man wheezing on the floor. The two soldiers flanking the man stand to attention at once. The councilmembers look at her with curious looks, Reynard positively lounging on his seat like he’s about to watch an amusing vid.

 

Beside her, Bellamy stutters in surprise.

 

The old councilman whose name Raven can’t recall cocks his head. But the mechanic has only eyes for Matilde. The woman mutters something under her breath like she’s any right to be annoyed and stands, adding louder so the newcomers can hear: “There’s nothing for you to worry, haiplana. We’re just dealing with a poacher and a thief.”

 

“From Roan’s throne?”

 

The woman sighs a little exasperated sigh like she can’t believe she has to put up with a slow child. “Since the king is not here, I am stepping into his position. As the next of kin.”

 

“Isn’t Haiplana Raven above you in station, though?” Reynard throws a nut into the air and catches it with his mouth, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

 

“Haiplana has never interfered in matters of state,” Matilde says through gritted teeth. “And this is not something urgent enough to warrant…”

 

“Raven!” the man on the floor. “Raven, please! I wasn’t…” his words are cut short by a new blow. He goes down with a soft huff and something about him tickles the back of her mind.

 

She knows him, knows that long nose and those too big eyes and the way that brown hair falls over his eyes. She has seen him this bloody and kind of desperate before.

 

‘ _Please, Raven! You can’t let them do this to us!’_

 

She blinks. The words twisting a knife inside her, and she knows. She knows who this is, even though she doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

 

“Now” continues Matilde, throwing a disgusted look in the man’s direction “if we can just wrap the sentence, everyone can go back to their own business.”

 

It bothers, how quickly that woman turns back towards the room. It bothers her that she’s sitting in the king’s place. And it bothers her that she’s about to decide the fate of a skaikru man.

 

“No.” The mechanic steps forward, throwing her shoulders back, a frown on her face.

 

Matilde presses her jaws together. “Really, haiplana. There’s no reason for you to…”

 

“He’s skaikru. That means he _is_ my problem” Raven steps forward. “I am Queen of Azgeda. In the absence of the King, the mantle falls on me. And you are out of place.”

 

Matilde narrows her eyes at Raven, but she doesn’t budge and at the end, the councilwoman has to move over to her usual seat. Raven sits in the high chair next to the throne.

 

“What is he accused of?” she asks the two guards.

 

“This _splita_ has been found on the king’s lands. We have received many claims that there was a thief terrorizing travelers. _And_ he has been poaching.” One of the warriors brings forth a big leather bag. There’s a dead rabbit in it.

 

“As the queen well knows,” says Matilde, her eyes positively flaming with barely contained anger “poaching in the king’s lands is forbidden and punishable by death.”

 

“That’s not extreme at all” mutters Bellamy standing back behind Raven’s chair. The mechanic throws a quick look over her shoulder. The skaikru man is standing against the wall, arms crossed across his chest and a deep scowl on his face.

 

The mechanic turns back to the man kneeling between the two warriors. His lip is split, blood rolling down his chin.

 

“And what do you have to say to that?”

 

“I have a deal with the queen and this bitch” the guard to his right growls, his hand fisting on the back of his head and giving his hair a mighty pull. He winces, but doesn’t cry out “the _councilwoman_ knows it.”

 

“Lies. Haiplana, this is preposterous. There’s no need to make a fuss.”

 

“Have none of you ever seen this man before?” the mechanic asks the four council members seated around her. The old man huffs moving around on his seat. The councilwoman Alex arches her eyebrows, like she can’t believe Raven would have the audacity to ask her something like that. Matilde’s eyes are ice cold, the slight tilt of her nose says ‘ _you think you can turn this council against me, child?’_. Reynard raises his hand, a hint of fang flashing on the corner of his crooked smile

 

“I’ve seen this man before. In the company of the king, no less.” he hums slowly like he’s trying to recall something. “And the guards _did_ confiscate the King’s Sigil from him. Didn’t they?”

 

“That is hardly proof. As stated, he’s a thief. There’s a number of ways someone like him could have acquired the sigil.”

 

“How about him having been seen with the king?” asks Reynard, rolling his head lazily towards the older woman.

 

“Just shut your mouth, you stupid fox!”

 

Reynard’s smile unfurls into a full-blown toothy grin and he whispers just loud enough for Raven to hear. “ _Du nan frag en räv op.”_

 

“Just ask Roan” pleads the skaikru man on his knees. “He will be back for the Solstice. There’s no need to go around chopping off heads.”

 

His smile is all innocent and encouraging, the smile of someone trying to push the scales in their favor.

 

The word cockroach comes to mind, someone who will survive the end of the world against all odds.

 

Raven remembers him. Remembers choking on blood and his hands guiding her to her side so that she could breathe again. Remembers his hands helping her through enemy fire.

 

“Let him go.”

 

“Haiplana!”

 

“My decision is final! Let him go and give him back his sigil and his bag.”

 

The warriors obey, ignoring the very vocal protests of councilwoman Matilde. Councilwoman Alex sighs and shakes her head.

 

“You shouldn’t pardon thieves like that. Not when there’s been someone attempting on your life.”

 

Raven isn’t really listening, too focused on Matilde’s death-stare. “You’re making a mistake, Raven.” The older woman says. “Mark my words.”

 

At her feet Lola growls deep in her throat, the fur on her back standing on end and the ears flat against her skull.

 

“I am not afraid of you.”

 

The councilwoman stands and storms off in the most regal and composed way possible. She doesn’t even slam the door on her way out. The old man and Alex follow her, more calmly and with considerable less hostility, leaving her alone with Reynard, still lounging comfortably on his high-backed chair; Bellamy, the skaikru man and Lola.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is the only chapter for which I had a title back when I started writing this. And a lot of the story has been me putting hints that build up to this moment. And then bloody Clarke had to come swooping in and mess with my carefully crafted plan.   
> But, I managed to put everything back on track. Sorry for the delay.   
> As always this hasn't been beta'd.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


	15. Said the raven to the cockroach

“I fucking hate that bitch”, is the first thing out of the skaikru man’s mouth and, even though Raven can totally get behind that sentiment, she’d prefer something more along the lines of why he’s here and what he wants.

 

“What’s going on, Murphy?” That’s Bellamy, always going straight to the point.

 

“They did not catch me hunting” and that’s Murphy, always weaseling out of every unfavorable situation.

 

Raven sighs. “Should I call the guards back?” She’s had it with not getting information. She’ll personally kick Murphy into next week if that gets her a little insight in the mess that’s currently her life.

 

“I was only passing through. But, you know how it is. Get caught stealing once and you’re a thief for the rest of your life.”

 

Raven and Bellamy share an unimpressed eye-roll.

 

“Where did you leave your partner?” he asks and Murphy’s poker-face is nearly good enough to fool her when he says “She’s about” with the mockery of a nonchalance shrug. “Unlike some, we’re not joined at the hip.”

 

But only nearly.

 

Bellamy purses his lips. “Don’t start.”

  
“What? I’m only saying that for a pair of platonic friends you sure as hell share a lot of space.” He leans forward with a conspiratorial wink. “People have noticed.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw and Raven feels grudgingly impressed with the way Murphy is working the other man up, pushing slowly but steadily for him to snap and forget to question him.

 

“Come on, Murphy”, Raven intervenes. “We just saved your life. Tell us what is going on.”

 

Murphy stares at her with his too-big blue eyes, lips pressed into a white line. He has never lied to her, Raven remembers. Half-truths and maybe some omissions, but never really lied. She knows, in her gut, that he won’t start now.

 

“I was asked to get some information. I got it, but your husband is sort of an ass and didn’t come to the rendezvous point. Instead, I got the Az-guard on my az.” Raven arches an unimpressed brow at his wordplay. Bellamy scoffs, but the tension around his eyes gives his worry away.

 

“What did he want from you?”

 

Murphy shrugs one shoulder. “I am not supposed to say. The walls having ears and all that jazz.”

 

It suddenly clicks in her brain. “You’re the skaikru fox!”

 

He blinks at her like she’s lost her marbles, but it doesn’t fool her, because she knows this man, remembers more than just snippets of him helping her. She remembers him: John Murphy, the cockroach that just wouldn’t die. She remembers him pleading, not only for his life but for _hers_ as well, for Emori’s, the fox’s mate, life

 

“Roan has Emori.” At her side Bellamy starts, Murphy snarls and at Raven’s feet Lola suddenly turns towards him, ears down and lips furled, showing her teeth in warning. Raven ignores all three of them.“That’s why you agreed to gather information for him.”

 

“You married a real prince charming”, spits the fox.

 

The mechanic shifts uneasily on her seat.

 

She remembers hating him and forgiving him. Remembers he’s the reason why she needs her brace, but also that he came back for her, that he’s saved her life more times that she can count. She remembers calling him a cockroach, first in hatred and then not as an endearment, but something like that.

 

“What did he want?”

 

“I’m sorry, Raven.”

 

“Damn it, Murphy! We can help you!”

 

But she knows he won’t take the risk. He won’t betray someone for another with less power and in Azgedan society, Roan is more powerful than Raven. She understands.

 

Her stomach twists. She has the power to change the scales in her favor, has the same leverage Roan had just sitting down bellow in the dungeons. But Murphy and she know that she only has one move left.

 

“Don’t worry, Murphy. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

 

The hatred in his eyes burns more than it should. “Can I leave now?”

 

Raven nods and Murphy picks himself carefully up and walks over to the door. He holds one arm gingerly against his side and drags his right leg a little.

 

“Where are you going to go?” That’s Bellamy, mothering over all the children, like always.

 

“Don’t worry about me, _Natswis_. I’ll survive.”

 

Raven watches him close the door softly behind himself and slumps back into her chair. She rubs her face with her hands and pulls on the bangs that have escaped her ponytail, swallowing the urge to scream.

 

“This is messed up.” Bellamy falls into the chair to her left. “Roan has so much to explain.”

 

“It makes no sense. And I feel terrible about Emori.”

 

“You are the queen, you know. You could command them to let her go.”

 

The mechanic can’t look at him when she says: “What will stop him from fleeing and not give Roan his information then?”

 

She can’t look at his horrified expression as she stands and walks out of the room feeling dirty and kind of evil. Raven hurries back to her study to retrieve the welding machine to repair the rover and then buries herself in the work of getting it back to work.

 

But it’s no use, her mind keeps circling back to Murphy, bloody and beaten and carefully balancing his actions and choices to keep himself and Emori alive. To use that against him feels wrong even when she knows it’s the only way to ensure his collaboration.

 

Raven isn’t sure how long she’s been working on the rover when Clarke pulls her out from under it. Rufus is sitting in the corner, looking bored out of his mind and Bellamy’s nowhere in sight.

 

The blonde smiles at her. “You ok?”

 

“No. Of fucking course, I am not.”

 

Clarke pushes her mouth to the side in a grimace. “Fair enough. Want to eat something?”

 

It takes her a moment to regain control over the burning feelings revolting inside of her. “Yeah, I could eat.”

 

Raven retires soon after dinner. She’s angry, restless, and bone tired as she unclasps the brace, throwing it carelessly against the wall where it clanks and falls in a mess of twisted metal to the floor. 

 

Laying on her bed, listening to the silence in her room she can’t stop thinking of the woman in the dungeons, of Murphy, of Roan who has orchestrated everything and of the bloody position he has put her in.

 

That man has so much to explain! She's going to fucking kill him. Why couldn't he just tell her his plan? Why has he left her clueless and surrounded by enemies? 

 

Raven chastises herself for thinking like that: she's not a powerless victim, she refuses to whine about this. Roan will be back for the winter solstice celebration and if he doesn't come clean... Then she'll take her ride with Clarke and Bellamy and leave for Arkadia. They can all kill each other for all that she cares. But she refuses to keep stumbling around in the dark...

 

The mechanic doesn’t notice when she falls asleep, but she must have because she wakes in the middle of the night with the soft rustle of slow steps creeping closer to her.

 

Her heart leaps into her throat and her hand closes around the handle of the shocking baton beneath her pillow. OPening one eye to carefully spy the door, she sees a huge shadow slowly approaching.

 

The mechanic curses her leg that won’t let her leap out of the bed and hurry out of the way. Without her brace, she’ll have to use the crutch next to her bed and she knows she's not quick enough to outrun an Azgedan warrior.

 

Cold dread rolls down her spine when she remembers that Rufus has been camping in one of her sofas ever since she came back from her small escapade. That this shadow is here now must mean he’s dealt with Rufus already. And where is Lola?

 

Carefully, as to not alert her will-be-attacker that she’s awake, she rolls her eye from their shadow on the wall to Lola’s empty pillow.

 

Her thumb sets on the activation button of her baton.

 

If they think she’s going down easy, they’ll have to think again.

 

Raven forces her breathing to remain even. She needs her attacker closer.

 

The mechanic can feel the heat of their skin as he extends a hand towards her face and has to fight the urge to puke.

 

The fingers hover a moment next to her cheek and she jumps up, whipping the baton out from beneath her pillow, swapping his hand away with one hand while pressing the baton to his belly with the other.

 

The attacker gives a strangled cry and falls gasping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

 

Raven goes to grab her knife from the bedside table, only to find it empty. She didn't take it out of her brace before throwing the contraption across the room. 

 

On the floor her would-be-attacker groans and she looks down, ready to deliver another shock.

 

A moon beam falls on the raised brands by his eyes and Raven fumbles with the light switch.

 

“Oh, my god! Roan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lifted directly from the show, because I have no shame, and because calling it directly "Dirty" just felt sort of on the nose. 
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting.


	16. Holfi laik em las drop of

“Oh, my god! Roan?”

 

The man looks up at her from where he’s curled on the floor, gasping and still twitching a little.

 

Raven stumbles off the bed and promptly falls face-first on the floor.

 

Roan smells like wet horse and dirt, his hair is still damp from the snow and his clothes are a mess – there’s even a twig sticking from a fold in his coat – and for some unfathomable reason, he’s barefoot.

 

“Are you ok?”

 

He’s panting as he sits up. “Yes.”

 

The mechanic heaves a relieved sigh. “Good” And promptly slaps his chest. “You fucking idiot! What were you thinking, sneaking around like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

 

The man has the _gall_ to smile and she wants to throttle him while a – huge – part of her also feels extremely relieved that he’s back.

 

“I am sorry, Rae” he says softly, arranging himself so that he’s looking at her, his back against the bed and his long legs folded close enough that she can feel the heat irradiating from him, but her bare skin is in no direct contact with his wet trousers. “I just needed to see my beautiful bride…” his smile freezes and she can see the exact moment he remembers that, when he left, she didn’t remember much of anything about their life together.

 

It’s like a gut punch because it brings everything in their last conversation crashing back to the forefront of her mind.

 

For a minute she was so glad to have him back; but the minute has passed and she remembers every hurtful word, remembers his ploy with Chris and Alex to replace her; remembers how he towered over her, dwarfing her in his shadow as he spit venomous words of how she had failed to deliver him an heir.

 

She chokes down the tears threatening to spill and looks away from his sad earnest face – can she trust that face? Is he pretending? Why...? - Her eyes fall on his bare feet: there’s a long thin scar across the bridge of his left foot and he’s missing a toe on the right – from frostbite when he was seven; he had told her.

 

“Why are you barefoot?” she blurts out. It’s not what she intended to say.

 

“Didn’t want to track mud all over your floors” he shrugs, eyes fixed on a random point on the wall behind Raven.

 

They lapse into silence, both looking away from each other; he pulls his legs up against his chest to rest his elbows on his knees.

 

“I…” he swallows again. “I didn’t expect to find you still here.” His voice comes out as a whisper.

 

“Disappointed?”

 

“Never.”

 

She hums noncommittally. “I heard you plotting with Alex and Chris.” She says finally. At least that’s a betrayal she can think about.

 

He sighs, head falling back on the mattress, when he speaks he does so looking up at the ceiling “Of course you did.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“How much did you hear?”

 

“Why? So you can know how much you have to doctor?”

 

“No, so I can decide how bad it actually sounded.”

 

“I heard your viceroys telling you that ‘ _after an appropriate period of mourning you would all look back fondly.’_ Which I guess is better than look back and laugh…”

 

“We weren’t talking about you.”

 

“And who is this _her_ that would die for you?”

 

Roan growls deep in his throat. “I _can’t_ tell you just yet.”

 

Raven stares at him. She weighs everything she knows, everything she’s guessed, the risks and the possible outcomes. Her voice is surprisingly steady when she speaks again:

 

“This is your last chance to tell me, Roan.” His head snaps up so quick, Raven is surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

 

“What?”

 

“Either you come clean, right now, or, at dawn, I’ll take the rover and leave. Peace-treaty be damned.”

 

She’s so tempted to believe his horrified expression and the pleading in his eyes. “I need just one more day.”

 

Something inside her shatters, but she forces herself to drag herself up and take the crutch, to hobble over to where her brace is laying. It’s surprising how steady her hands are as she picks it up.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Raven…”

 

He’s suddenly there by her side and she has to fight the urge to whack him over the head with her crutch, to punch him until he’s bleeding and hurting as much as she is.

“I can’t.” the mechanic has to clear her throat, for the words to tumble out. “And I won’t! I have more self-respect than that.”

 

“Please I…”

 

“NO! I will not just stay here and take it. In the morning I am leaving.”

 

His face twists and it hurts, but she’s too angry for it to really matter. She’s too tired as she finishes snapping the brace in place and walks over to the wardrobe, throwing open the doors to start packing.

 

For a moment he just stands there and it’s difficult to ignore him when his presence commands so much attention, but she does, throwing clothes onto the bed, trying to decide what she wants to take with her.

 

At least that’s an easy decision.

 

Roan’s hands land on her shoulders, stilling her. He must have bowed his head because she can feel the tip of his nose brushing the top of her head, like he’s breathing her in. His hands are steady when he turns her softly but firmly towards him.

 

“I need a replacement for one of my viceroys, the one behind the attack. That is the replacement we were talking about.”

 

The mechanic steps back. “Nice try. But I don’t buy it.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust _you_ , Raven. But until I can get to the bottom of this conspiracy, until I can find every last dissident inside my house, I cannot talk freely about this. And I didn’t want to put you in harm's way or leave you behind, but if I’d taken you with me, the conspirators would have been tipped off.”

 

“Yeah, because I am such a worthy queen to you with my barren womb and all.”

 

He winces.

 

“That was the biggest lie I’ve told in my entire life and I can’t begin to express how deeply sorry I am.” His hand is warm against her cheek, his eyes blue and wide, pleading. There is no telltale twitch around his left eye when he says: “But I need you to know that being your husband is the greatest honor I’ve ever had. And I love you, more than you can possibly imagine. That is the Truth.”

 

“Then why did you say it?” she snaps, stepping away from him once again.

 

She needs space to clear her head, needs her stupid heart to stop twitching and her mind to stay on track instead of offering her vague memories of how much she actually cares for him. That’s not only not helpful but also nauseatingly painful.

 

“I shouldn’t have…”

 

“No, you shouldn’t.” Raven snaps. “But what I want to know _why_ you did?”

 

He shifts, paces a little and then drops on his side of the bed, shoulders slumped, head bowed. He picks at the cuff of his jacket and it occurs to her that this is the most vulnerable that she’s ever seen him.

 

“I...” he sighs, dirty hair falling between them like a curtain. “I wanted to hurt you.” He confesses, low and open and honest.

 

Raven stumbles back like he’s physically pushed her away, blinking in shock.

 

“I…” Roan takes a deep breath, looks up at her through his long lashes for just a moment before he tears his eyes away. There’s so much raw emotion, so much hurt on his face it is nearly as shocking as his words. Roan keeps his feelings close and in check at all times and he’s taking his barriers down, one by one, to let her see all the ugly that lies beneath and that no one is ever allowed to see. “I am...” he clears his throat, shifts, forces his fingers to stop pulling at the loose thread in his cuff. “Scared and in pain, unable to mourn the loss of our…” he cuts himself off and it occurs to her that she’s never heard him speak about the baby. Even when he was being ruthlessly cruel that last night, he never said it. “It was like dying when Einstein got here without you. Then you came back but…”

 

“But I didn’t.” He swallows and Raven thinks she understands. “Not really, anyways.”

 

He stands brusquely, pacing up and down the room like a caged wolf or something, moving jerkily, eyes never meeting hers.

 

“There’s nothing I can do about it.” He growls. “I know that. And I was - am – angry.” He barks a humorless laugh and rubs at his face. “Spirits above, I am _so_ angry.” Roan seems to notice the slight hysterical note that’s crept into his voice and grapples to regain some semblance of control. “I was trying to keep it controlled, keep it buried. But you are not getting better. I’m starting to fear you never will. And seeing you is like picking at an infected wound because everything reminds me of what we had and still here you are.”

  
“It’s not easy for me either” she grumbles defensively.

 

“I know that! You were ready to kill yourself last time you thought you might lose your mind! Believe me. I know it’s not easy and I know it’s not fair. Yet still… You kept pushing and pulling and testing a relationship we’ve spent over ten years in. And I know you don’t trust me anymore. I can feel it. That night…” he sighs. “I was – am – trying to do the best I can. And I kept meeting your distrust, your contempt and… I fear I’m not as strong as I thought I was. The only thing I wanted was for you to feel what I am feeling. For you to hurt as I am, to be as angry and full of despair as I am.”

 

He stops by the window, leans his head against the glass. “I am truly sorry, ai meizen skaifaya. If nothing else, I beg of you to believe that.”

 

Raven takes a seat on the edge of the bed, brushes away the dirt he’s left behind on the sheets.

 

“So, why stopping me from leaving?”

 

He’s silent for a long time, looking up at the dark star-covered sky.

 

“When I was a child we had an old _barnpiga_ , Lope, who told us tales of great heroes. She told us of the man that made a deal with Death to rescue his partner; of the Lady who could see beyond battle scars into the heart of her companion; of the lovers that would defy their station. And she told us of the warrior that returned home after decades on the war field...

 

She was a romantic, waiting for her husband. I think he had vanished during the war against Yujledakru. Even after twenty years, she would speak of the warrior who was still on his way home. Hector found her stories very silly. Mother disapproved of them. But I loved every word.” He pauses, still talking to the stars “I remember, I would force Echo to play ‘star-crossed lovers’ with me whenever she was around.” He chuckles and it sounds a little wet. “She would grimace and kick me in the shins, screaming ‘GROSS!’ when I pecked her on the cheek.” There’s a pause in which Raven has to fight the urge to fidget. “In _barnpiga_ Lope’s stories, the heroes had to fight great odds, prove their worth.”

 

Raven feels a little like a heel when she points out “Life isn’t a fairytale. Ther’s nothing you can do to _prove_ …”

 

“ _Holfi laik em las drop of.”_

 

The mechanic fights the urge to snap at him that she doesn’t understand his stupid language. This… This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Roan’s truth laid bare in front of her.

 

She believes him, which is the hardest part, because, if he were lying she could be righteously angry for his wrongdoings. But he isn’t and she can’t. Oh, it still aches when she thinks of his face contorted in anger and his words snapping at her like a whip: brutal and to the point.

 

But she knows he was lying when he said, doesn’t she? Has known it ever since she saw the slight twitch in his left eye that’s always his tell.

 

“This is so messed up,” Raven grumbles, burying her face in her hands. “I need some time to think about this whole thing.”

 

He turns to look at her, face earnest and slightly less raw. There’s a tear hanging from the lashes of his left eye.

 

The king opens his mouth like he wants to say something, closes it again and clears his throat. “The Solstice Festival is tomorrow night. If the day after you decide to leave, I will personally escort you and your skaikru friends back to Arkadia.”

 

The knot in her throat prevents her from answering, so Raven just nods her head. Roan shifts on his feet.

 

“It’s late. I’ll let you sleep.” He starts towards the door, stops, looking at her over his shoulder. The king moves towards her slowly and when she doesn’t pull away, he presses his lips to her brow. Raven feels him inhaling sharply, the tip of his nose brushing her hair just so.

 

Les than a second later he’s stepping away, walking with long purposeful strides towards the door. Lola cocks her head up at him from her spot on the threshold, before standing primly up and trotting to Raven’s side, head held high and tail swishing proudly behind her.

 

The king closes the door noiselessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man was this thing difficult to write! 
> 
> Holfi laik em las drop of - This was literally translated word for word from Spanish into English and then into Trigedasleng. It's a very common saying: "La esperanza es lo último que se pierde"/"Hope is the last thing you loose"
> 
> Barpiga is Swedish for "nursemaid". 
> 
> I hope I didn't get too OOC with Roan in this. It's difficult gauging how emotionally open he is willing to be with only the series. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading and commenting. You are the light of my day :D


	17. Preparing for the Ball

Around noon Hannah comes to rescue Raven from the training hall where Echo has kidnapped her.

 

“Haiplana, we should get you ready for tonight’s reception”, the maid looks nervously at a group of warriors sparring to her left and back at Raven. She looks small and inadequate. One of the warrior shifts in a way that makes his impressive sixpack ripple and Hanna turns red as a tomato.

 

Echo is about to protest when Bellamy, Björn and two other warriors enter the ring, joking and pushing each other like comrades. Or puppies. Echo blushes even deeper than Hannah and nods. “Yes, Haiplana, we should get going. Much to do, little time.”

 

She ushers her quickly out of the room, not looking at the newcomers. Raven wonders what that was about, but Echo is nearly pushing her out of the room and down the corridor.

 

Instead of going to her quarters Raven is ushered into a steamy room, the walls lined with low wooden benches and softwood shelves. From a cupboard to the left Hannah retrieves a stack of fluffy white towels. A door to the left leads into a second, dark room, in the doorway stands a huge woman with tattoos across her massive arms.

 

“Kat, ¿what are you doing here?” asks Echo with a frown.

 

“Haihefa’s orders.”

 

Echo takes a step back, her eyes going wide. The woman pounces before the warrior can flee. In but a few moments the huge woman finds herself on top of Echo, digging her knee to the base of her neck. She speaks softly in trigedasleng, and doesn’t move until the warrior nods her head and promises to comply.

 

Kat crosses her arms across her chest while Echo undresses and walks buck-naked through the doors. Beside Raven, Hannah is trying very hard not to giggle.

 

“Are you leading me to the slaughterhouse or something?”, Raven asks.

 

“No, just to the bath-house.”

 

“Do I want to know what the deal with Echo is?” the mechanic asks conversationally while removing her sweat-soaked garments.

 

“I couldn’t tell you, Haiplana. I don’t know the spymaster enough to tell.”

 

Hannah offers her a crutch to walk through the doorway. It opens to a cavernous room lit by sparse lanterns that cast everything into harsh shadows and soft orange light. There are three pool-like bathtubs: the one on the left is occupied by a very relaxed looking Clarke Griffin, the one to the right by a very unhappy Echo. Hannah helps Raven climb into the one in the middle.

 

The water is warm, it smells like honey and some flower she doesn’t know. As soon as she’s seated herself into the water she feels all her muscles slowly uncoiling. She leans against the wooden side of the tub, her eyelids growing heavy.

 

Hannah buries her hands into her hair, pushing her head from the border of the tub and down until her scalp is underwater. Raven jerks away, conscious of how easy it would be for her maid to just drown her. Her mind is suddenly hyper- alert and she understands why Echo – a seasoned spy – would dislike this relaxing half-darkness and the lulling promise of the warm scented waters.

 

Hannah shushes her softly, her fingers moving deftly over her scalp in a hypnotic pattern. Much to her dismay, raven finds herself relaxing once more, lulled into a half-sleep. She’s only barely conscious when Hannah guides her out of the tub, drying her with the soft cloud-like towel. She hobbles through another set of doors and is laid on a hard cot. Hannah stays close as someone she doesn’t see stays close and starts working on her back, massaging every single muscle until she’s like putty in their hands.

 

Her mind is blessedly empty and even when the thought of how extremely vulnerable she is right now occurs to her, it’s like a side-note. A curiosity she’s too relaxed to contemplate.

 

From this room, she’s wrapped in a warm robe and seated in a third room, this one more illuminated where her four different people start working on her hands and feet. Someone at her back is brushing her hair in quick methodic strokes and she must pass off for a while because the next thing she knows is that Hannah is shaking her awake with a smile.

 

Blinking she notices Clarke and Echo, seated to either side of her. It takes her a moment to recognize Echo with her hair in a complicated up-do and skin so clean it gleams. She’s glaring at the woman working on the fingernails of her right hand. When she notices Raven looking she grimaces.

 

“Not a word. I can still kick your ass.” She grumbles, adding “Haiplana” as an afterthought.

 

“The world could end this second” mumbles Clarke from her other side. “And I don’t think I would care.”

 

Echo snorts.

 

After that Raven gets to put on some underwear, trousers and her brace back on. Hannah and she go back to her room, where she finds the most beautiful dress laid out for her. Hannah helps her into the velvet bodice, snapping the laces at the side close and arranging the top so that it hides the bandages on her shoulder. Then Hanna drapes the skirt around her waist.

“Isn’t this extremely unpractical?” she asks. “What if I need to reach my knife?”

 

Hannah points to a slit on the side of the skirt masquerading as a pocket. “You can reach the knife through here. And, should the need arise you can loose the skirt just by snapping open this release system.” The maid demonstrates it and the skirt flutters to the ground.

 

Raven smirks. “Practicality.”

 

“Otherwise it would be very stupid and unsafe for everyone attending the gala.”

 

Hannah reattaches the skirt around Raven’s waist and opens a box on the vanity. There’s a crown in it, made of the wings and skull of what must have been a big-ass black crow.

 

“What the hell is that?”

 

“The Consort’s Crow,” Hannah says matter-of-factly, in a way that has Raven thinking she’s worn that thing many times already. The light shines off the diamonds woven like water droplets between the feathers in the wings and there’s a red ruby embedded into the bird’s forehead. When she looks closer at it, she sees that the whole skull has been carefully carved and inlaid with silver-thread. If she doesn’t think that’s a dead animal that she will have to carry on her head, she can admire the delicate craftsmanship. The thing is beautiful. But it’s also macabre as hell.

 

Hannah puts the crown on Raven’s head and the wings gleam black, green and blue against her dark brown hair, the beak of the crow resting on her forehead and reaching nearly to her eyebrows. It’s surprisingly heavy.

 

She gets also small ruby and diamond earrings and bracelets. “Oh!” says Hannah inspecting the bottom of her jewelry box. “The silversmith finished it!” She pulls out a thin silver chain from which hangs a metallic origami-like crow. Raven thanks god that she’s already sitting or she would’ve fallen on her ass.

 

“I thought I had lost that. Where did you get it?”

 

“One of the stable boys found it. The chain was broken beyond repair, so a new one was commissioned.”

 

Raven blinks back the tears when she feels the familiar weight settling on her shoulders. Her hand goes automatically to it. It’s cold and cleaner than it has ever been. They’ve mended the small bumps and the wing that had been nearly torn off years ago. The chain is shorter, too, showing it off over the neckline of her bodice.

 

“Well…” says Hannah standing with a proud smile behind Raven. “It’s time to get down to the Feast Hall.”

 

Raven starts hearing the music and the murmur of conversations halfway to the Feast Hall. Sitting in a corner next to the huge double doors and looking extremely put-out is Lola: her fur gleaming and well brushed and a choker incrusted in sparkling diamonds around her neck. She perks up when Raven steps around the corner and trots to her side, rubbing her head against Raven’s hand, her yellow eyes shining with righteous indignation. The same indignation that’s clearly painted across Echo’s face as she steps out of the shadows to greet her.

 

She’s clad in a beautiful gray and green dress, with silver patterns across her brow and cheeks and sparkling jewels woven into her dirty blond hair.

 

“You look amazing, Echo,” says Raven, feeling small and inadequate next to her.

 

“I look like a fool.” She grumbles. “Roan knows I hate these.” She makes a vague gesture encompassing everything from the room they’re standing in to the gown she’s dressed in and including somehow Lola, too. “He’s punishing me for something.” They don’t need to say that something is probably Raven’s attack – repeated attacks.

 

“It will be fine.”

 

“It will be a disaster.”

 

Her dark eyes fall on something behind Raven and she goes very still and very red in the face. A moment later Bellamy appears next to Raven. He gives a low whistle.

  
“Damn, Reyes, you clean up nicely.”

 

“Not bad yourself, Blake.”

 

He chuckles and promptly messes his hair by running a hand through his hair. He’s dressed in a beautiful light blue tunic with and leather breeches, a fur coat falling over his shoulders to the middle of his calves.

 

By his side stands Clarke and Raven feels her jaw hit the floor when she sees her: pale skin encased in deep blue velvet, hugging all the right places and showing off her figure. The skirt has been covered with silver-threaded stars, which makes her look like she’s wearing the night sky.

 

“Has anyone seen Murphy?” asks Raven.

 

“I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

 

“We should get going” whispers Echo not making eye contact with anyone. She offers Raven her arm and seems to relax infinitesimally when the mechanic puts her hand on it.

 

The room has been decorated with pine garlands and sparkly glass pearls. The room is illuminated by seven huge chandeliers and a hundred flickering torches. The center of the ballroom has been cleared to make place for a dance floor, the walls lined with tables heaped with different kind of meats and baked goods. On the far wall hang three dozen beautiful hides and then there’s the antlered head of what must be the biggest deer Raven has ever seen.

 

By the door stands a guard at attention on a wooden podium, he bows his head at Echo and Raven and then bangs his spear three times on the floor, the sound ricocheting around the room and bringing the attention of all the gathered people on the two women.

 

“Wormana Echo No-Tagon kom Azgeda,” at Raven’s side, Echo bites down a grimace, raising her head and pushing her chin out proudly, “and Raven Reyes kom Skaikru, Hailplana kom Azgeda!”

 

The people bow low and Raven can feel her ears burning with embarrassment. Her knees feel like putty as Echo guides her into the room. Slowly the conversations pick up and the music starts again. They wander around the room, chatting with random people Raven’s forgotten the names of as soon as they tell her. She’s extremely grateful for Echo, standing beside her and dropping hints and conversation cues to help her out.

 

“Ah, Haiplana!” Reynard steps closer to the circle of sycophants gathered around Raven, effectively saving her the need to discuss the latest az-fashion trend with a slightly cross-eyed woman and her toothy daughter. “It’s so good seeing you here.”

 

Reynard smiles at her. His red hair has been pulled back in a mess of red braids, he wears copper jewels in his hair and sticking in flowing patterns across his brow and cheeks. His light green tunic has copper-thread designs around the cuffs and neckline. From his belt hangs a decorative two-foot long knife. But the most significant thing about his aspect is the black eye he sports.

“What happened to you?!”

 

“Oh, nothing much. Had a bit of a disagreement with Haihefa last night.”

 

“He beat you?”

 

Reynard chuckles. “No. He punched me. Once. Like he promised he’d do if something happened to you in his absence.” He winks at her. “Don’t worry Raven, it looks worse than it actually is.”

 

Echo rolls her eyes at him and snaps something in trigedasleng at him. He answers with raised eyebrows.

 

“Shouldn’t you be flailing around the Natswis or something, No-Tagon.”

 

The warrior presses her lips together, before she can answer councilman Chris kim Wodagroun appears next to Reynard, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Are you causing trouble again, Sodraunräv?”

 

The innocent look on his face is completely dishonest and doesn’t fool anyone. “I wouldn’t dare, Chris. I was just chatting with Haiplana and the beautiful Spymaster.”

 

Chris is red in the ears when he looks at Echo, his attention turning quickly to Raven. “You look stunning, Haiplana.”

 

The mechanic shifts under the weight of his unblinking stare. “Thank you?” she clears her throat. “Is Roan here yet?”

 

“He was called to an important meeting and will be coming shortly.”

 

Reynard’s smirk is all toothy when he repeats mockingly: “Oh, a _meeting_.” Chris sighs. “You are impossible.”

 

“I am endearing.” He counters, leaning boldly into Chris, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And you like me.” He bites Chris’ earlobe “Admit it.”

 

For the second time this evening, Raven fins herself having to pick her jaw from the floor.

 

“Are you in your cups already?” Chris’ hand travels from the redhead’s shoulder to his neck, but he doesn’t push the man off, just rolling his eyes, like Reynard’s behavior is the most natural thing in the world. Raven makes a mental note to ask Echo about this.

 

“As if I couldn’t find you pretty even when I am not drunk. You wound me, Chris, my friend.”

 

The man huffs.

 

“Maybe because you’re all talk and never deliver.”

 

“Excuse me, but I _always_ deliver.”

 

Chris shakes his head with a tired sigh. “You see what I have to deal with here?” he throws a hopeful side-glance at Echo.

 

“You should just push him off. Ideally off a balcony.”

 

“You are one mean woman” pouts Reynard.

 

Before Echo has time to answer, the warrior at the door bangs his spear against the podium boards and announces: “Haihefa Roan kom Azgeda!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, nothing much happens here, but, since it's the last week of the show I thought: let's share some happy and inane pampering of one Raven Reyes with the class. 
> 
> Have fun.


	18. The Ballroom Toast

“Haihefa Roan kom Azgeda!” announces the warrior at the door and the room quiets at once and bows.

 

The king’s blue eyes travel over the crowd, they fall on Raven and the mechanic can feel his stare like a physical weight. She raises her chin in defiance and gives him a once-over of her own. Which, considering his infuriating smirk and the way he seems to puff like a proud hen, might have been exactly what he wanted.

 

Raven has to admit he cuts a very handsome figure in his dark gray embroidered tunic and fur-rimmed jerkin. Not that _that_ is in anyway a surprise because he’s handsome even buck-naked - she would know, she has seen it.

 

His hair has been plaited with golden bands and upon his brow sits a crown made out of twisted antlers and what she’s pretty sure are some sort jawbones, with carefully carved teeth still in them. A sword in a ceremonial scabbard hangs at his side.

 

The King steps into the room, behind him, an entourage of guards take position along the walls. He makes a hand gesture to the musicians seated in a niche high on the left-side wall Raven hadn’t noticed before and they start playing again. The attendees raise with much crackling of leathers and swishing of skirts. Conversations start once again. Many step up to Roan, congratulating him on the hunt, the prosperous year, the decoration and generally fawning over him.

 

Raven watches him smile and talk and present his most charming persona. His face is closed off, but his smile is nice and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners really does wonders to sell the mirage. There’s no trace of last night’s rawness. Everything is back under control and Raven hates it. But, somehow, his façade doesn’t seem so airtight like it did before. She can see the hair-fine fissures and fears others might as well.

 

There’s a certain degree of wariness, his eyes don’t twinkle like they do when he’s genuinely happy, his movements are controlled and carefully measured. The king travels around the crowd, always perfectly visible, always the center of attention and he seems to bask in it. But Raven knows how he still hates it, doesn’t she?

 

A buxomly woman in a blue dress insinuates herself at the king’s side and Raven can see his disinterest melt away as son as Roan notices the mechanic watching. His clear blue eyes shine with mischief for a moment, his smile tugging up into a positively sinful smirk.

 

Roan bows to the woman and guides her to the dance-floor, people respectfully stepping out of his way. The woman’s cheeks are flushed, her smile blinding and genuine, like she can’t believe her attempts at getting the king’s attention actually worked.

 

Raven turns her head to the musicians, ignoring the warm surge of anger rolling down her arms. Up in the orchestra balcony, seven drummers and five fiddlers play quick and lively music. At her side Echo taps her foot in time with the rapid beat of a tambourine and Chris seemed to perk up, the pearls in his hair clinking slightly has he turns more fully to the warrior.

  
“You dance, Echo?”

 

Reynard giggles against the viceroy’s shoulder. “She can’t. Not with that stick up her ass.”

 

The assassin looks positively murderous. As does Chris, by the way, stepping away from his friend so quickly the councilman nearly falls on his face. “I’m accompanying the Haiplana,” she bites out.

 

“Oh, don’t stay on my account. Have fun.” Raven smiles up at Echo, before her eyes are automatically drawn back to her husband. Who, apparently, is _not_ a bad dancer, jumping from foot to foot in a quick pattern. The buxomly woman has pulled her skirts up to her legging-clad knees, mirroring the pattern, a huge smile on her face, her skin glowing, thick curls falling around her shoulders in a mess of sneaking brown braids.

 

Raven’s nails bite into the inside of her palms.

 

“I will guard the Queen” offers Reynard, making shoo-y motions with his hands. Echo is most definitely not impressed by this but Chris is bowing to her, his eyes so huge and pleading Raven can’t help but find it endearing.

 

Echo rolls her eyes but takes his hand. “One dance.”

 

They leave to join the rest of the dancers. The woman dancing with Roan stumbles and he rights her and it looks like a small miracle that she doesn’t faint right then and there.

 

“Can I offer you a drink?” Reynard gestures elegantly towards one of the many tables covered in food and cups.

 

“Yeah,” she has to, very consciously, uncurl her fingers from the angry fists, “I could use a drink.”

 

Reynard spares her a knowing look. “He likes dancing. And since he knows you hate it, he’ll just take the most beautiful partners until you go to him and dance or drag him away by his ear.” The redheaded councilman hands her a cup of wine. “Three dances that’s the longest you’ve been able to ignore it.” He sips from his own. “I bet you won’t crack this time.”

 

“You’re telling me this, because…”

 

“Oh, you know. The usual.” Raven arches an eyebrow at him and gets a chuckle for her trouble. “Money? A good laugh? The pleasure of thwarting plans and irking people?” he winks at her. “Take your pick.”

 

The mechanic rolls her eyes and turns her back to her husband, which seems a pretty good idea if what she wants is to imagine all the ways the buxomly stranger is insinuating herself on him. She doesn’t need to try to know that she can’t dance like that, not with her stupid brace. And she knows it shouldn’t bother her but it does.

 

Raven sips form her cup and investigate the food on the table, trying to decide what to eat first. Her hands sweat slightly as they tend to do whenever she sees so much food. She has to control the impulse to stuff her pockets full and eat until her belly aches. The mechanic picks a small cake from a silver platter and nibbles on it with all her self-restraint.

 

At her side Reynard stiffens and that is the only warning she gets before Dorian is tapping her lightly on the shoulder. He’s dressed in a yellow tunic and leather jerking, his hair combed back and braided with golden beads in a style similar to Chris’. His wife is nowhere to be seen, but he doesn’t come alone: he’s surrounded by three large men in dark tunics of rough, cheap cloth; and at least three pairs in more fashionable and expensive clothes.

 

“Good evening, Haiplana.” Dorian smiles patronizingly “You almost look like an Azgedan girl tonight. Not much of a queen, but…”

 

Reynard furrows his lips in what could be considered an innocent smile. “For a disgraced natrona-bror, I think you speak with way too little respect.”

 

“And you seem too comfortable in your position, Sudraräv.”

 

“Oh, you know me,” the redhead laughs and is hand lands on Raven’s shoulder, pulling her physically against his chest, “always landing on my feet.”

They measure each other carefully and the mechanic wants to elbow herself out from beneath his heavy paw, feeling increasingly uncomfortable standing between the two men.

 

That’s when the music stops and Roan steps out of the dance floor and on to a small dais in front of the wall draped in furs. He raises a golden goblet and a tense hush falls over the room, broken only by the creak of skirts and the shifting of people. A few walk discretely around the room, to stand closer to their partners and friends. Around the room guards stand at attention, their armor, duty-leathers and polished weapons clashing with the overall well-dressed partygoers.

 

“My friends!” calls Roan, his voice loud and clear in the silence. “Once more we gather to celebrate the end of a year full of prosperity and peace!” the crowd roars in agreement, raising their cups over their heads. Roan waits for them to quiet down again before he continues. “Our borders have been safe for nearly a decade now. Our strength increased ever since Praimfaya. And our alliances have made Azgeda greater than it ever was before!” another deafening roar of approval. “Our children grow healthier and stronger. And we have wrangled technology that has made the lives of all our people easier. Safer. We are now the mightiest force from the Wastelands to the Great Waters. And the rest of the clans know this and respect us for it!” he smiles at the roaring crowd. “And tonight we feast with none other than our sister, Wanheda herself!” Raven sees Clarke raising her chin proudly and nearly misses the inquisitive arch of the blonde’s eyebrow in Roan’s direction. By her side, Bellamy straightens as tall as he is. Which isn’t saying much surrounded by azgedan that tower at least one head over him. “Yet” Roan continues, his voice darkening “there are still those that would defy us! There are still some among us that want to push us into a war and destroy everything we have built!”

 

The crowd shifts, angry murmurs rolling around like waves. Behind her Reynard’s hand tightens. He starts slowly walking backward, dragging her with him. Raven squirms out of his grasp, but he snaps his hand to the back of her neck and pulls her back so sharply she stumbles into him. She can feel her heart beating panickedly against the rough fingers.

 

“They think we have become complacent and weak in peace!” on the dais Roan is walking up and down the length of it like a caged beast. He shows his teeth and his whole face turns into an intimidating grimace of anger and hatred. “I say we flush those traitors out!”

 

“We are too close,” Raven hears Reynard mutter behind her, barely audible over the bellow of the crowd, and feels cold sweat beading on her brow. She sneaks a hand into the slit of her skirt. For a moment she can’t find her brace between the folds of her skirt. Then her fingers close around the bone hilt of her knife.

 

“I say the conspirators will be brought to justice!” The king raises a fist in which hangs a piece of dark leather decorated by a big four-fingered hand, the palm decorated with a jagged spiral. Raven recognizes it from the meeting in which Echo brought in Erik, the traveling healer: it’s the _Drop of Hanofi_ symbol. “Anyone recognize this?”

 

People look around the crowd shifting, stepping away from the King. Around the room, the guards have readied their swords. Raven notices they’re effectively blocking all exits now. “Someone in here has been conspiring against me and my kin! I offer you the opportunity to offer yourself up now! And you will receive an honorable death!”

 

“We’re too close…”

 

Behind her Reynard jerks and gives a high-pitched whimper, his hand tightening reflexively around her neck, his head falling to her shoulder. Raven feels his warm breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. She pulls her knife out of its sheath. “ _Ron we_ , Haiplana.”

 

The hand falls away. One moment she was standing against the solid form of the redheaded councilman and the next he’s vanished, falling in a heap to the floor.

 

The mechanic doesn’t question it. She gathers her skirts, ready to run like hell. She hasn’t gotten away twos steps when she’s suddenly picked up off the floor like she weights nothing.

 

There’s no time to process much apart from the intense pain from her wounded shoulder as her arms are roughly wrenched behind her back, the stitches in her shoulder giving under the unnatural movement. Her knife clatters to the floor.

 

She screams, trying to squirm away, right until she feels the soft prickle of a blade against her throat.  

 

For a moment she sees Roan starting forward, then her attention is torn from the king by Dorian, who stands a few feet away from her, his ceremonial short sword raised above his head:

 

“ _Ai biyo!”,_ he shouts. “ _Dison laik memon kom fousen Haiplana! Haiplana kom fousen drain! Ai biyo oso frag op neindropa_!”

 

Raven isn’t sure how many of the people in the ballroom shout in agreement to whatever he is saying, but, to her, it looks like a lot. The mechanic squirms in her capturer’s iron grip to no avail.

 

From across the room, Roan is livid with anger, eyes fixed on Dorian.

 

“Order your men away from my wife” he growls, deep and dangerous, stepping down from the dais and prowling closer. “And I will consider giving you a swift death.”

 

“You are a usurper to the throne!” proclaims Dorian, his followers closing ranks around him, weapons drawn and ready to fight.

 

Roan chuckles without humor. “And you are a traitor to your king.”

 

Raven shifts slightly. Her shoulders strain in the uncomfortable position, and blood has soaked through her bandages and bodice. Her knife lays uselessly on the floor by her attacker’s feet.

 

The whole room seems to be holding its breath, waiting for someone to make the first move. Raven’s heart hammers against her ribs like it’s trying to break free and she feels the small pastry she’s eaten rolling around in her stomach.

 

And suddenly there’s a blur of red, black and white fur as Lola launches herself at the man holding Raven. The knife disappears from her throat, her captor stumbles back dragging the mechanic with him. For a moment all she can see is the furry belly of the rächa.

 

The hand holding her elbows together loosens its grip and Raven launches herself forward and to the floor. Retrieving her knife and turning to the man in time to see him pulling his knife out of Lola’s throat and throwing her body against the wall, where it stays. Unmoving.

 

There’s a huge bite mark across the man’s face, gushing blood all over his clear-blue tunic. He’s a complete stranger with Lola’s blood all over his hands. He shakes the knife, droplets of blood splattering the floor. Raven hates this man. She doesn’t know him, has never seen him before, but in this moment she hates him more than she has ever hated anyone.

 

She launches herself at the man, slashing away with her knife. The man evades her attack easily, sidestepping her and raising his own knife. Raven rolls out of the way, cursing her skirts when they get stuck on something. The mechanic looks down. He’s standing on the hem of her dress.

 

Her attacker grins. “Yu gonplei ste odon.”

 

Raven fits her skirts and pulls with all her might. The skirt flies from beneath the man’s boot, making him loose his balance and fall to the floor. Before he has time to think she smashes her braced leg against his crotch, making sure to get him with the metallic part. He gasps, eyes bugging and Raven feels a sick sense of pride before she slashes his throat open. “Go and float yourself you asshole!”

 

Echo appears at her side, covered in blood, the insides of someone hanging from a fold in her bodice. She’s gotten rid of the skirt and gained two swords Raven’s pretty sure she didn’t have on her when they walked into the ballroom. Around her, Roan’s followers have subdued most of Dorian’s. Matilde is kneeling at her husband’s feet, a small trickle of blood rolling down her throat where Dorian’s blade has pierced the skin. She looks positively murderous.

 

Across from the traitor stands Roan, also covered in blood, two swords firmly clasped in his hands. “This is over.” He growls. “Put down your sword.”

 

Dorian looks over at Raven. “Haiplana!” There’s a slightly hysterical note in his voice. “Ai get kiln yu laik fousen haiplana! Du laik ai bror draun! Du laik ai…!”

 

Raven doesn’t really see Matilde move. She doesn’t notice the knife in the councilwoman’s hand until she’s slashed across her husband’s Achilles tendons. He collapses in an ungainly heap at Roan’s and his wife’s feet.

 

Matilde spits something Raven doesn’t understand at her husband and Roan stares at everyone else, challenging anyone to disobey and side with Dorian.

 

“Elsa!” his voice is like a whip in the sudden silence. The dungeon master appears seemingly out of nowhere. “Get the traitors to the dungeon. Make sure none of them die until I’ve decreed it so.”

 

“Sha, Haiplana.”

 

“And bring me the fox’s mate.” He adds lower and less harshly. Elsa nods her head and the guards start taking away the subdued traitors. Raven counts twenty-six.

 

“Come”, whispers Echo, pulling her slowly away from and towards the door. Raven’s hands are shaking. She sees a medic rushing to Reynard’s side. On the floor against the wall, Lola lays her spine at an unnatural angle. Her yellow eyes staring unseeingly at nothing.

 

She was a wedding gift, Raven remembers. Reynard had raised her by hand since she was a pup. “A guard to protect you even when this idiot doesn’t manage to do it.”, he had said.

 

Echo guides her out through a side door down a corridor and into a quiet dark room. She smiles at her. “Everything will be ok, Haiplana.” Her smile is the least reassuring thing Raven has seen that night.

 

The blood covered warrior closes the door quietly behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I showed a lot of restraint killing only one character off!
> 
> Anyway. Thanks so much for reading and commenting. We're about to wrap this baby up! YAY!  
> __________
> 
> Trig translations: 
> 
> Ron we, Haiplana - "Run, my Queen."
> 
> Ai biyo! - "I say"
> 
> Dison laik memon kom fousen Haiplana! Haiplana kom fousen drain! Ai biyo oso frag op neindropa! - "This is the symbol of the real queen. The queen from the real blood (meaning royal blood). I say we kill the impostor"
> 
> Yu gonplei ste odon. - "Your fight is over"
> 
> Ai get kiln yu laik fousen haiplana! Du laik ai bror draun! Du laik ai…! - I know you're the real queen. You are my brother's blood. You are...."
> 
> Sha, Haiplana - "Yes, my king"


	19. Drop of Hanofi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the late update! Life has been a bitch. I can't thank you enough for your patience and for coming this far in the story. 
> 
> Thank you for your support and your comments, they do make my day brighter ^^

The room is eerie quiet and dark, illuminated only by a lonely chandelier atop a wooden chest of drawers. There’s a small table in the center and a few scattered chairs because every other room in the Winter Palace is a sitting room.

 

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Raven feels tears welling up in her eyes and her hands shaking. When she closes her eyes she can still see Reynard and Lola on the ground. She can still hear the screams and feel the scratch of the blade against her throat.

 

“Is Reynard going to be ok?”

 

Her legs give out from under her and she’s grateful when Echo guides her to the chair.

 

Echo’s hands are covered in blood. Does any of that blood belong to her? What happened to Chris?

 

The warrior doesn’t answer.

 

“Are you wounded?”

 

“I am fine.” She doesn’t sound fine. Her voice’s flat and inflexion-less. She reminds Raven of the Roan of the council meeting: that big blank emotionless slate of nothing. It tickles something in the back of her mind: the way Echo looks right now: big and menacing standing over her covered in blood…

 

Raven remembers… Remembers…

 

Somewhere in the distance, there’s a loud bang and it’s like she can feel the heat of the flames devouring Mount Weather. Echo was covered in blood then, too, wasn’t she? Except...

 

Bellamy told her that Echo had played them. One night, a few days after the explosion Raven had found him and he had been so angry, raging against Grounders and saying it was his fault that their friend was dead. Gina. Sweet, kind Gina. Gina was dead and Sinclair had nearly died and it was all Echo’s fault…

 

Now… Now another friend is wounded and Echo’s covered in blood and all Raven can see is the mountain blowing up, flames rising and big rocks falling, crushing her people.

 

“Forty-five seconds, Raven,” sobs Gina’s voice in the mechanic’s head and her mind comes back online spinning a thousand miles a second, chasing exhaustion and fear out.

 

She watches Echo, feeling her mind putting the pieces together, questions speeding across her brain.

 

What is she thinking? What's going on?

 

Dorian's last words still ring in her ears and, even though she isn't sure what some of them mean, the general message seems clear enough. 

 

Echo twirls a knife in her hand. The mechanic has never before seen her this agitated and she has to ask herself: is it because of the attempt on Roan's life or...

 

"Dorian was talking to you," she says, prodding carefully at the puzzle image slowly getting clearer in her mind. 

 

The reaction is way more obvious than she had expected: Echo goes rigid and turns to stare at her and it clicks suddenly, everything falling into place and it's so obvious Raven can't believe she hadn't thought about it before. Because the warrior may be fairer and lighter and all that much smaller than Roan, but she speaks and moves like the king, she's as smart and shifty and...

 

"You're the  _drop of hanofi_."

 

For one heartbeat Raven feels the pride and satisfaction of having resolved a very complicated equation, of having found the solution to a monumental problem cursing through her veins.

 

Then the second passes and on the next Echo's throwing herself on the mechanic who has a terrifying instant to realize that she's unarmed, sitting in an empty room with a trained assassin coming at her at full tilt.  

 

Echo's knife doesn't slit her throat, which is so confusing Raven can't really process the big calloused hand pressed across her mouth. "Are you mad!" hisses the az-warrior, her face so close she's gone a bit cross-eyed. "You can’t go around saying stuff like that!"

 

Which is by no means a denial.

 

For a moment they stare at each other, then Raven pushes the other woman off her and Echo stumbles back. "But it's true, isn't it? That's why Dorian turned to you. He wanted you to challenge Roan."

 

"Something I would never do. Roan is my king."

 

"But you could be the queen" the mechanic frowns at her. A new set of questions rising in her mind like a brand new puzzle.

 

"It would break Azgeda. Under Roan they're united. Roan is a good king and he is the rightful heir to the throne. _Drop of Hanofi_ 's followers... They will tear this land apart, make us weaker than we've been in a hundred years."

 

"So you had nothing to do with the coup?" 

 

"Roan is my king." she repeats, harsher. 

 

"Am I now?"

 

Raven jumps nearly a foot in the air. Echo, on the other hand, just turns to him, bowing her head in respect. "Your Highness."

 

The king steps slowly into the room, closing the door behind him and wandering towards the table with long, measured steps. His sword has returned to the sheath at his side. There’s a golden goblet in his hand, wine sloshing inside.

 

He takes a huge gulp stares at Echo with his ice-cold blue eyes, face devoid of any emotion he looks eerily similar to the warrior. "I wonder what sort of spy allows something like this to happen right under their nose?"

 

Echo worries her full lip, head still bowed. "I have no excuse, _ai Haihefa_."

 

"See, my problem is this: the Skaikru Fox was not able to find anything incriminating you. Plenty of evidence regarding the others, but nothing on  _you_."

 

"That's because there's nothing to find.” Her head snaps up so quickly something in her spine pops. “I am loyal to the crown!"

 

"Tell me then: how did this happen? How was my wife's life threatened not once, not twice but thrice? How were all those rats allowed to play merry under my roof? For how long have they been here? Who let them into my house?"

 

"I... I..." 

 

"ANSWER ME!" Even Raven shrinks back at the wave of red-hot rage rolling off Roan’s shoulders.

 

In contrast, her voice is nearly inaudible when she whispers: "I don't know, Haihefa."

 

As quick as his anger appeared on his face, it’s whipped away: his eyes hard like stone and mouth set on a firm white line. 

 

"I can't bare to look at you. Leave my house. Don’t come back."

 

"Haihefa…"

 

"Out!"

 

"Haihefa..."

 

"OUT!" barks the king. "Before I throw you into the dungeon with the rest of..."

 

"Roan, please!" shouts Echo, eyes wet and huge. Roan stares her down, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. "Please don't send me away."

 

"I have no use for you. You should be grateful, my mother wouldn’t grant such mercy."

 

She sobs, but still, her tears do not fall. Very slowly she falls to her knees and unsheathes her knife. Presenting it to Roan hilt-first. 

 

"You are my king, Roan. And if anything I've done… if my incompetence has let you think, even for a moment, that I could ever betray you... Then I am not worthy. I beg of you. Don't send me away. Let me die at your feet, but do not send me away."

 

Silence falls on the room like a heavy stifling cloak. Roan's face is still unreadable and, for a moment Raven's sure he's just going to grab the knife and plunge it into Echo's waiting throat. She stands up, scrambles for words to make him change his mind.

 

When he finally moves, it's so quick the mechanic can't track the movement. He slaps the knife away, sending it clattering to the floor and pulls Echo up and in, enveloping her in a crushing bear hug. 

 

Raven feels like she’s intruding on an incredibly private moment, but isn’t sure how to show herself out without them noticing her.

 

_"Ai nou don frag yu op seintaim yo don förråda ai, sis"_

 

 _"Ai na dula op daun nowe , bro,”_ she whispers against his neck

 

Roan steps back, his shoulders less tense, face a little bit more open. He looks the warrior up and down and shakes his head, picking a tiny piece of intestines off Echo’s sleeve. “Who is this?”

 

“Marius, Haihefa.”

 

The king tsks with distaste. “Why do you always have to ruin the nice clothes I put you in?”

 

“Maybe”, there’s a tiny smile playing around the warrior’s mouth “it’s the Great Spirits trying to convey that you shouldn’t do that anymore, Sir.”

 

“I’ll never find you a match if you keep doing that.”

 

She shrugs. “I guess I’ll have to keep serving you in other ways.”

 

“ _Satunge_ ”, and there’s definitely humor on Roan’s face now. He isn’t quite at ease yet, but his eyes shine a little and his small smile seems sincere enough. Raven’s heart aches to have to make that smile broader, to see his eyes crinkle at the corners.

 

Echo bows to the king. “Go get cleaned up.”

 

The spy turns to the door, stops, looks from Roan to Raven and back again, arches an eyebrow at the king and leaves without another word.

 

A new silence falls in the room. It’s heavy and stifling. They watch each other from their respective sides of the table.

 

He has never looked this old, Raven thinks, this tired.

 

The mechanic picks up the golden goblet Roan has abandoned on the table at some point. It has splattered red wine over the surface, but there’s still some in and she takes a sip. It burns down her throat and coils in her belly leaving a fruity aftertaste on her tongue. Roan likes his wine silky and rich.

 

Raven still doesn’t know much about wine. For most of her life all the alcohol she’s had tasted like rust, acid and it didn’t so much coil in her stomach as tear through her and leave her lightheaded and slightly disoriented.

 

During their time in the Bunker Monty made many batches of moonshine. Roan tried it once and puked nearly instantly.

 

She takes another swing of the goblet.

 

A ten-year-long relationship from which she has only disconnected and incoherent snippets.

 

“Are you going to replace Matilde now?”

 

“I have to set an example.”

 

They’re watching each other warily. “How’s Reynard?”

 

“He’ll be alright. It’s not easy killing a fox.”

 

Raven nods her head. “Good.” She studies the goblet in her hands, running the fingers over the small decorations all around the brim. “Clarke and Bellamy?”

 

“Nothing that won’t heal quickly. I’ll take you to them if you want.”

  
She nods her head, still not looking up. “And you?”

 

“Nothing more than a few scratches, really. I’ve had worse.”

 

The mechanic sighs, setting the goblet on the table. “So is that it? Have you gotten to the end of this conspiracy?”

 

“There’s always going to be someone wanting to overthrow me. But with the fox’s information, I have enough to tear the heads down and set an example that will drive the point home.”

 

“So it’s safe now?”

 

“As safe as it’s ever going to be.”

 

They lapse into silence again. “I have something of yours,” he says after a moment and sets her ring next to the goblet on the table between them. It’s the same ring Emori showed her in the dungeon. It fits perfectly around her finger, the weight familiar and the small crease where her nail usually gets stuck feels just right.

 

“How are there two?”

 

“Skaikru fox planted it.”

 

Raven remembers the wandering healer who was dragged off to the dungeon to be interrogated by Elsa.

 

“You knew that man was innocent?”

 

“He wasn’t innocent. He was a supporter of the _Drop off_ Hanofi.I knew your attackers had taken the ring, they wanted to make it look like a robbery.” Raven still doesn’t remember the attack, but she knows she hadn’t taken it off since Roan gave it to her in their wedding. “So Murphy planted the ring on him to throw off the investigation and be able to slip in and out of Blupik.”

 

“How did you know it had anything to do with Matilde and Dorian?”

 

The king smiles humorlessly. “I didn’t. But it is convenient having friends on every level of society.”

 

“Murphy told you. _He_ knew.”

 

“He has contacts all over the criminal network of the land from the Big Seas to the Wastelands. There isn’t much a Räv doesn’t know.”

 

“Why don’t you put a stop to the criminal network if you know how to find it.”

 

“ _Du nan frag en räv op.”_ he shakes his head and drains the rest of the wine from the goblet. “Every society exists like an ecosystem. We all have our jobs to do.” 

 

Raven nods. Every step of the plan makes sort of sense now. He had to throw Echo of the trail, because he needed to be able to deny knowing everything if Murphy got discovered. He needed to keep Emori in the dungeon, because Murphy’s not exactly reliable and he has no love for Roan.

 

“I don’t like being left in the dark like this. I don’t like it that you’ve made me a damsel in distress in need of being rescued. You should’ve told me. And don’t say you wanted to protect me, because I might murder you.”

 

“You’re a woman of action, if I’d told you, you had to sit still and wait for however long it took for the fox to gather the information you would’ve let the hare out of the bag.”

 

“You know what they say about assuming.”

 

“You forget, meizen skaifaya, that I know you.” Raven hates how much she loves that nickname. There’s a small smile around the corners of his mouth, but his eyes are earnest. “There’s nothing wrong with being in need of rescue from time to time. I know you don’t like it, but sometimes there’s just nothing you could’ve done.” He’s picking distractedly at his cuffs again. “You’ve saved me and I’ve saved you. We’re partners. That’s what we do.”

 

He doesn’t add that he didn’t want for her to worry, that she had enough on her plate with trying to find herself in the big black nothing that was her memories, that she might not have been able to handle a political conspiracy on top of everything. She knows he doesn’t say it because he knows that would anger her. No matter how true they were.

 

Raven feels a thousand years old and wonders if she, like her husband, looks old and defeated.

 

This is why she prefers machines to people. Machines are easy to understand, they don’t hurt you with their good intentions, they don’t keep information from you, they don’t have complicated feelings she has to navigate and they don’t navigate around her complicated feelings.

When she looks at a machine she doesn’t see all that raw pain and hope and love, she doesn’t have fond and terrible memories. She doesn’t love them so desperately she might choke on it.

 

“I’m tired.” Raven turns to leave. The door handle is cool against her skin.  

 

There was a time where she wasn’t this weak. Where she would’ve stormed out of the room and slammed the door for good measure. There was a time where she knew what to do.

 

Raven closes her eyes, hating how small her voice sounds, how weak she feels and how much she really needs him.

 

“Kiss me good night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a quick translation of the trig on this chapter: 
> 
> Roan - "I couldn't have killed you even if you had betrayed me, sister" The word for "betrayed" I plucked it shamelessly from Swedish because I am still thinking of Azgedans as basically Norse.   
> Echo answers: " I would never do that, brother" because I am cliché like that and wanted to drive the whole point home somehow. 
> 
> "Satunge" is also Swedish and means essentially "brat" (at least if Wikipedia and Google Translate can be believed). 
> 
> As always this was unbetad
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting ^^


	20. Chapter 20

Raven is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, a small frown on her face. She’s been staring at that same small crack on the plaster for the last three hours and still hasn’t managed to fall asleep.

 

Three days after the ball and aborted coup she’s still too agitated in her too big, too empty bed.

  
“Fuck this.”

 

With a frustrated huff, she throws the covers off and drags her legs over the edge of the bed. The mechanic snaps the straps of her brace not even bothering to put on pants and storms out of the room.

 

She misses the soft scraping of Lola’s paws on the ground, following her wherever she goes and the brush of her soft fur against her fingertips when she walks.

 

Raven stops in front of the closed door, pushes her shoulders back and raps her knuckles on the wood.

 

“Enter” comes the distracted command and she doesn’t allow herself to think before pushing the handle down and storming into the room.

 

It is a sitting room much like her own antechamber. It has a massive dark metallic fireplace in the middle so that everything is cast in soft dancing firelight, the rugs are made of pelts with a huge ass bearskin right by the fire. Echo’s on the bear rug, her bare feet propped on the snarling head of the bear and her back against a worn sofa. She’s looking up from the abused book in her hands. On the couch behind her, lying with his back to the fireplace and feet dangling over the armrest is Roan, tiny sewing needle in one hand an embroidery hoop in the other.

 

They both look up lazily at first and jerk up with a start when they see her. “Raven!”

 

“Is this a bad time?”

 

“Nah, we were discussing strategy,” lies Echo and Roan whacks her over the head with his embroidery hoop.

 

“By which she means she is hiding from her feelings and I am catching up on my stitching.”

 

“I am not hiding, ai Haihefa.” She pulls herself up. “Just seeking some peace and quiet while making sure my king is safe.”

 

Raven finds herself biting back a smile this feels safe and familiar. “That was smooth, Echo. I’m impressed.”

 

The warrior rolls her eyes with a chuckle and walks over to the door. “Good night, Haihefa. Haiplana.”

 

She leaves, and Raven fights the urge to fidget, choosing instead to cross the room to where he’s still sprawled across the sofa. She picks up his legs so that she can slide onto the cloud like cushions and put his legs across her lap.

 

The king doesn’t completely relax, but he leans back and lowers his stitching, twirling the needle around his fingers.

 

“I don’t think we can get back to what we had,” Raven says before she can lose her nerve. “But… I miss you,” she swallows, burrows her feet in the soft fur of the bear rug. “I don’t remember much. But I remember you giving me the knife as a wedding gift. I remember waking up with you by my side. I remember talking and joking and fighting. I remember loving you. And, try as I may, I can’t seem to stop.”

 

“Then don’t.”

She looks up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Ok.”

 

He grins at her, open and warm and after a beat, he’s pushing himself up and closer, which is a bit awkward when his long legs are still draped across her lap. It is her who kisses him, and she can taste the wine and the bread they had for dinner. The angle is off, but then he shifts, and his arms come around her, crushing her against his broad chest, and it feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading


End file.
